


Unfinished History

by VSeeungeheuer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant (99.9 percent), F/F, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27753151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VSeeungeheuer/pseuds/VSeeungeheuer
Summary: Katie Bell and Leanne, take two.Bad timing, missed chances, regrets, sure, but this is mostly pretty light: it’s from Katie’s POV and I maintain that Gryffindors are too unperceptive/unreflective/impulsive (in a good way) to identify angst, let alone to wallow in it.
Relationships: Katie Bell/Leanne
Kudos: 2





	1. Ministry of Magic

“Miss Bell?”

Katie Bell looked up from her pile of trade statistics gratefully. The disembodied head of Mrs. Prod, the department’s secretary, was floating in her office fireplace.

“I have a floo from Magical Law Enforcement,” said Mrs. Prod. “Should I put it through?”

“Law Enforcement?” repeated Katie. Her department, the Magical Office of Law, primarily dealt with treaties and trade disputes, not with criminals. Katie had spent the last two months revising the trade agreement with the Peruvian Ministry of Magic. She fervently hoped that Ambassador Quispe hadn’t done something to cause an incident. “Yes, of course,” she said.

The fire flared as the floo transferred. It was not the Ambassador.

“Hi,” said Leanne, a little uncertainly.

“Hi,” echoed Katie, delighted. She jumped out of her chair to get closer to the fireplace. “Eddie said you were back.”

Leanne nodded. “I should have written,” she said, and took a breath. “I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

“Of course,” answered Katie. Then, recalling the source of the floo, “Why are you in Law Enforcement? You’re not under arrest?”

Leanne shook her head.“It’s a routine inquiry, they keep saying, but I’d feel better with an advocate.” She smiled sheepishly. “I watched too many crime dramas with my dad, growing up.”

“I’ll be right up,” Katie promised, and grinned. “Say nothing, you hear?”

“Thank you,” said Leanne, and her head vanished.

Katie grabbed her bag and dashed for the lifts, calling to Mrs. Prod that she’d be taking the rest of the day off and tapping her foot restlessly as the car stopped on every floor. She hadn’t seen her friend in almost five years, since the day of her accident. Leanne had left school just weeks before Katie had regained consciousness. She’d sent a single owl to Eddie saying she was safe, thousands of miles away, then had gone untraceable. As far as Katie knew, she’d only returned two months ago when Eddie had reported running into her up at Hogwarts.

The Law Enforcement department secretary, a frazzled witch with a desk covered in pale purple inter-departmental memos, directed Katie to a small conference room. Leanne was sitting at a battered wood table opposite a very young wizard, who stood and offered his hand as Katie marched in.

“Jai Gohil, Magical Law Enforcement Patrol,” he said.

“Katie Bell,” she answered, shaking his hand. “Magical Office of Law.”

“I know,” he said. “You were a serious Chaser back at school. We never played, you were disabled the year I made the Hufflepuff team, but I used to practice your quarter roll dodge.” He smiled. “Reckon I improved it.”

Katie brightened instantly. “You should join your alumni team,” she urged. “There’s matches every week. It’s great. I mean, it’s not, the weather’s been shit all summer, but it’s still Quidditch.”

He smiled again, sitting. “I know. Cadwallader’s been after me to come out. I’ll have to invest in a better rain cloak.” He unrolled a piece of parchment covered in barely legible scribble. “I’m sorry you were dragged up here. It’s not necessary.”

“It’s no trouble.” Katie set down her bag and took the empty chair beside Leanne. Her friend smiled cautiously, more like the quiet fifth year Katie had hardly known than her sharp-witted NEWTs History tutor. She looked unexpectedly adult, dressed in formal robes and without her schoolgirl bangs, and she was tanner than Katie had ever seen her, but her stubborn jawline hadn’t changed. Only her hands moved, twisting in her lap, rubbing at callouses. A square badge with _Leanne Li, Routine Inquiry_ was pinned on her chest.

“If you say so.” He took a self-writing quill from his case and positioned it above a fresh sheet of parchment. “Routine inquiry of the tenth of July into alleged offenses committed under the Endangered Species Statute and the Non-Tradable Substance Statute by Leanne Li, resident at Ollivanders Wand Shop, Diagon Alley South Side, London,” he dictated. “Interrogator: Jai Gohil, Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. Advocate for the accused, Katherine Bell.” 

Katie glanced over in surprise. She’d poked fun at Leanne at Hogwarts for helping tortoises across paths and building homes for glumbumbles. She couldn’t imagine her friend breaking the law at all, let alone to hurt an endangered animal. Leanne’s hands had fallen still as she gave Gohil her complete attention.

“The allegation is as follows: That on the evening of the sixth of July, Leanne Li purchased a pair of demiguise hearts from an unknown party in Knockturn Alley. Given increasing muggle deforestation and subsequent population loss, the demiguise is now protected by the Endangered Species Statute, section 22(B). And following the recovery of some frankly disturbing letters at a Death Eater safe house cleanup, demiguise meat, bones, and organs have been provisionally listed on the Non-Tradable Substance Registry, class C. A first offense is punishable by confiscation of the substance and a fine. Further offenses are subject to additional penalties, up to and including imprisonment.” He finally paused for breath. “Do you dispute the allegation?”

“Yes, of course,” said Katie, before Leanne could speak. “Who made it?”

He peered at the reporting officer’s notes. “One Theodore Nott, of Oxfordshire.” He frowned, possibly remembering his own interactions with Nott at Hogwarts.

“A pure-blood supremacist,” Katie pointed out. “Who just happened to be taking a healthy stroll down Knockturn himself, I suppose?”

Gohil looked like he had his doubts, too. “This says he was searching for his lost familiar. A lizard.”

“That’s likely.” Katie shook her head. “The entire allegation is hearsay, and from someone who’s disliked Miss Li since our Hogwarts days simply for being muggle-born.”

The interrogator looked to Leanne for confirmation. She shrugged. “That’s true.”

“And you deny making this purchase in Knockturn Alley?”

“Emphatically,” said Katie. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you.” Gohil glanced over the transcript. “As I told Miss Li earlier, current policy is to follow up on every report of Dark magic. Most turn out to be baseless, but we have to check. I’m sorry to have taken your time.” He lifted the quill to make a final handwritten note, shook their hands again, and ushered them out of the room.

They waited side by side at the lifts. Katie glanced down — she’d grown even taller since they’d last seen each other and stood nearly a head above Leanne now, at least in her heels. Leanne was rubbing her hands again and still looked rattled by the questioning. “Eddie said he saw you in May?” Katie asked, to distract her.

“Up at Hogwarts. I’d just got back.” She stared at the floor indicator, frowning. One lift appeared to be stuck on level six. Another was crawling towards them from the Atrium. “I’ve been holed up in the shop since then, preparing for the reopening.”

“The _Prophet_ said the will was probated this Spring?”

“Yeah.” Leanne fiddled with her visitor’s badge. “I was on my way back when the Ministry’s owl reached me.”

The _Daily Prophet_ article — peppered with questionable anecdotes from Eddie — had described how Ollivander had tapped Leanne to be his successor from the day he’d sold her her wand. Katie knew that she had apprenticed under his sharp eye every school holidays and that she’d thought of him as another grandfather. She had never spoken about his abduction the summer before their seventh year but it had clearly hit her hard: she had dropped out of Hogwarts later that year and left the country, traveling so far and wide that the wandmaker had died, either from the torture he’d endured or from Muriel Prewett’s relentless gossip, before word of his rescue had reached her.

The news of the shop’s new proprietor had sparked a flurry of furious letters to the editor and vows to switch to Kiddell wands by disgruntled traditionalists, but since Ollivander’s only surviving child, a very successful pioneer in the muggle dot-com craze, had professed no interest in wandmaking and had declined to challenge the will, it had stood. Leanne had given one brief interview to the paper, confirming that the shop would open on August 1 and that a small stockpile of Ollivander wands remained available for purchase, and had barely set foot in public since.

The lift doors chimed and opened, revealing an agitated older wizard holding a suitcase at arm’s length. “Misuse of Muggle Artifacts?” he asked. Without waiting for a response, he darted down the corridor. The suitcase cheerfully waggled its dozens of feet at them as it passed.

As the doors closed and the lift started its descent, Leanne finally began to relax. “I shouldn’t have bothered you,” she said. “It’s just all this…” she gestured at the ceiling, back towards the Ministry.

“No, I’m glad you asked,” Katie assured her. “It’s so good to see you again.” She wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. “I want to hear about all your adventures. Do you have time for a drink?”

The watchwizard at the security desk looked up over his _Daily Prophet_ and smiled when they approached. “Skiving off early, Katie?”

Katie grinned. “I just broke my friend here out of Law Enforcement,” she whispered loudly. “We’re on the run. All set?” she asked, as Leanne unpinned her badge.

He looked at the badge and then closer at Leanne. “So you’re the new wandmaker, then?”

Leanne just nodded. Katie took her arm, pulling her away. “I’ll see if I can get you a discount,” she called back. “Give my best to Sarah, Eric.”

They made for the departures fireplaces, past the fountain in the center of the hall. The spray of water blurred the shapes of two polished stones on the far side listing the names of the wizards, witches, and muggles who had lost their lives in each Wizarding War. As they came around the fountain, Katie spotted a sheet of parchment fixed to the second stone, adding the names of three dozen house elves and goblins. The ink was bleeding slightly where a jet of water had struck it. Leanne paused, and Katie’s eyes were drawn, as always, to Fred Weasley’s name near the end of the list, just above the parchment. She looked away quickly.

“Maintenance keeps removing that,” she said, to fill the silence, “but it keeps getting replaced. Minister Shacklebolt suggested adding the non-humans to the memorial before some sympathizer uses a permanent sticking charm on it, but the Wizengamot is split.”

Leanne said nothing, reading every name, her expression blank. It might have been the first time she’d seen the extent of their losses, Katie realized. “I wish-” she began, but Leanne had turned away from the fountain, so quickly that she had almost collided with a pair of passing goblins. The younger, overburdened with ledgers, ignored both them and the memorial and strode on toward security. The elder, with an ornate cane and thinning white hair, paused to nod politely at the humans.

“Miss Li.”

“Madam Grodduk,” said Leanne, equally formal.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Katie shot her a questioning look. “Vargot the Vain’s great-great-great-granddaughter,” Leanne shrugged, but she looked flattered to have been recognized.

“What, Vargot the old rebel?” Katie asked, shaking her head and waving Leanne toward a gilded fireplace. They each took a pinch of powder from a long-legged bowl to one side. “If you’re into celebrities, I can introduce you to this guy I know from school,” she offered. “He was quite big, a few years back.”


	2. Diagon Alley

“A Firewhisky for me, Tom,” said Katie, pulling out a stool at the bar. The pub was busy for the time of day, mostly shoppers taking refuge from the weather. A handful of students on holiday hunched over a chessboard in the center of the room, shooting passersby dirty looks and silent except for the grunts of vanquished pieces. 

The wizened barman jerked his head at Leanne as he splashed water into Katie’s tumbler.

“Peachtree,” she said. “Thanks.” She had tied back her hair and rolled up her robe sleeves and looked more like her student self, eager to get back to her work, but she took the next stool over without protest. Her feet dangled.

“What, still?” grinned Katie.

Leanne poured half of her bottle into a glass. It fizzed up, nearly doubling in size. “I like Peachtree,” she said, taking a sip too soon and sneezing. She wiped the fizz from her face and took another drink. She paused. “Eddie said you’ve been doing well?”

“Not too bad.” Katie smiled and touched her glass to Leanne’s. “Let’s see. First I was discharged from St. Mungo’s. Then we won the war. Then I got into the Office of Law, mostly thanks to you, where I write trade agreements and coddle ambassadors. And wear fancy shoes — Madam Delaney, the Head of the Office, says it’s very important to look the part.” She poked Leanne’s boot with the toe of her fashionably pointy heel. “You like them? I like your hair.”

“It’s gotten long,” Leanne said. “And those look painful. But you’re giving me too much credit. One year of study groups couldn’t have made much difference.”

Katie snorted. “I wish it was only the one year. When I was in St. Mungo’s you read me the entire _History of Magic,_ footnotes and your running commentary included, and _Urg: An Intimate Portrait, with Excerpts in the Gobbledegook,_ excerpts and all, and Brodrig’s _The Brotherhood: Standing Tall,_ and–”

“Professor Flitwick let me use his fireplace to read to you every night.” Leanne looked embarrassed. “But Madam Pomphrey swore it was pointless, that you couldn’t hear anything.”

Katie shook her head. “I couldn’t not hear it. It was the most — the second most — painful thing I’ve ever experienced.” She laughed. “My knowledge of recent history is rubbish — I can't name the last five Ministers for Magic — but I can rattle off every leader of the 17th and 18th century rebellions by heart. Madam Delaney said I got the best History marks they’ve ever seen.”

It had been nothing short of a miracle that Katie had passed her History OWL, and the increased NEWT workload sixth year had driven her to Professor Binns’s office in a panic. The professor, bewildered to be approached by a student and backing away slowly through the wall, had suggested she try studying with Lloyd, but when Katie had asked around, she’d discovered the only Lloyd at Hogwarts was a first year. She’d spent a few hours debating whether this was Binns’s way of telling her it was hopeless before deciding he must have meant Li. She still wasn’t sure if she’d guessed right, but it had worked out.

They’d met twice a week, Katie, Leanne, and her friend Eddie Carmichael, although Eddie had spent so much time teasing Leanne and hawking dubious elixirs to frantic fifth years that she’d never figured out how he finished his assignments. But she’d been surprised to see how quickly her own marks improved, even before those unforgettable lessons at St. Mungo’s, and more surprised to find herself looking forward to their sessions. When Angelina had questioned her consorting with a pair of Ravenclaws, Katie had assured her that neither of them cared about Quidditch and that she was only in it for her NEWT. That wasn't completely true, though. Looking back, some of her best memories at Hogwarts, off the pitch, anyway, had been with Leanne and Eddie.

“I’ve been out with some lovely boys, too,” Katie continued. “Well, I broke it off with Cormac McLaggen a few weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry,” said Leanne.

“Don’t be, he’s still an ass. I thought he might’ve grown out of it, but…” She shook her head and sipped her drink. “What about you?”

Leanne topped off her glass. The fizzy head overflowed this time and she hurriedly set down the bottle to mop up the spilled tea. “I’m hardly leaving the shop,” she said.

Katie rolled her eyes. “Were you seeing anyone in Siberia?”

“I was in China.” Leanne continued to dab at the spill vigorously. The bar top was possibly the cleanest it had ever been. “The closest I got to Siberia was Inner Mongolia. For the unicorns.” Katie waited expectantly, letting the silence lengthen as she made a show of savoring her whiskey. Tom swept by, drying the counter with one wipe of his towel and leaving Leanne hanging. “Fine,” she said, smiling in defeat. “Yes. Inner Mongolia was Xiaoyun.”

Katie smirked. “What, and Beijing was someone else, and Shanghai, and…?”

Leanne flushed. She took a long drink, very pink.

“A regular heartbreaker.” Katie grinned, swirling her glass and eying the other witches in the pub. “So what’s your type?” she asked impishly. “I mean, other than me.”

Leanne set down her drink and slid off her stool. “I should be getting back.”

“Don’t,” said Katie, contrite. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop. At least finish your tea, please.”

“I need to go,” Leanne repeated. “But you could come too, if you like.”

Katie jumped up. “I’d love to.” She glanced at the clock over the bar. “Ah, no. I’ve got a match later and I’ve got to get new gloves. But can I walk as far as Quality Quidditch?” She tossed a handful of silver on the bar and waved to Tom, leading Leanne to the door.

It was raining, again, and a gust of wind nearly knocked her into the little courtyard’s bins. She grabbed Leanne’s arm for balance, then grimaced and pulled her collar tight against the weather. “Come on,” Katie shouted into the wind, rushing through the archway before it had fully opened and trotting down the alley. Her heel slipped on a cobble and she slowed. “And, really, I’ll die of curiosity. At least tell me if she was a witch or a muggle?”

Behind her, Leanne paused. “Xiaoyun was a hag.”

Katie spun around, staring. “That’s not funny, Leanne,” she said. “Don’t tell me next you were actually buying demiguise hearts in Knockturn.” She gave a forced laugh.

“No.” Leanne caught up to her and Katie breathed a sigh of relief. Then, quieter, “You can’t get demiguise outside of Asia, anymore. I’d purchased the hearts already. I only needed help getting them into the country.”

Katie drew away and folded her arms tightly, ignoring the rain now dripping down her neck. She stared at Leanne, abruptly aware of the years that separated them and unsure who her friend had become. The steep gabled shop roofs seemed to loom behind her almost sinisterly. “You heard Gohil,” Katie insisted. “Demiguise are endangered, and Dark.”

Leanne shrugged. “Two of the uses of dragon’s blood are Dark,” she said, “but that doesn’t make the other ten any less useful.” Katie opened her mouth to argue. “It’s a preserved specimen, Katie,” Leanne added. “Dead two hundred years. For wand cores.” She started walking again. “No one’s dying for me.”

“For cores?” Katie followed a step behind, frowning. “But Ollivander proved that dragon and unicorn and phoenix–”

“Please trust me on this,” said Leanne. She sounded tired. “I spent more than five years with Mr. Ollivander, two with Mr. Yeung in Hong Kong, and two on my own. I’m not a complete novice.”

“I know you’re not,” said Katie. “But–”

“Please.” Leanne had reached the quidditch shop and pulled the door open, waiting for Katie to enter. She looked impatient, and wet — neither of them had ever had much use for hats, and her hair was plastered to her head. When Katie hesitated, she sighed. “Mr. Ollivander was a great wandmaker,” she agreed, wiping the rain from her eyes, “and a great teacher, and an even better marketer.” She nodded at a wizard exiting the shop, as if it were entirely natural for two witches to be stalled on the threshold in a storm. “If you look past the self-promotion, all he really proved was that dragon, unicorn, and phoenix worked best for him. Other wandmakers have affinities for other materials. Mr. Yeung favors qilin antler. My best have been demiguise. I’m working on a way to stabilize their hair that's not completely toxic, but until then I’m using heartstrings.”

“Are you coming in, then?” called the shop’s clerk, leaning over the counter to look at them.

“Yes, sorry,” said Katie, stepping past Leanne and a display of flying trousers (“Now with magically-enhanced posterior padding, for when one Cushioning Charm isn’t enough!”) and into the protective gear section. The usually soothing scent of wood polish and leather washed over her but failed to register today. She fussed with the gloves, pulling on a pair and tugging them off, then trying a fingerless pair. She spread her hands stiffly.

“What’s your wand?” she demanded.

Leanne refolded the trousers she’d been examining. “Plum and unicorn hair, remember?” 

“You haven’t made yourself a new one?”

“What?” Leanne almost yelped, dropping the trousers. “No, never. Wands find their partner and go out into the world and…” She gestured vaguely. “You’d never use one of your own, that’d be–” She made a face.

Katie grabbed a sample quaffle and tossed it hand to hand. She felt somehow reassured, as if the wand anchored Leanne to Hogwarts and the person she’d been there. Ollivander had had strange ideas too, she remembered. Some of the stories Leanne had told her… Smuggling semi-legal goods and even holidaying with hags seemed relatively tame by comparison.

“What would you make me, then?” she asked more confidently.

“Occamy feather,” said Leanne, without hesitation. “In fir, or mistletoe, maybe.”

Katie smiled despite herself. “You’re the one with a girlfriend in every city.”

“Not every,” Leanne winked. Katie laughed. “And mistletoe was around long before Christmas.”

Katie waved a hand dismissively. “We both know I was never any good at History, perfect recall of your reading list aside.” The gloves had a nice grip. She unbuckled them and brought them up to the clerk, a man with clipped hair and a Beater’s build. “Just these today, Andrei.”

“Again? What happened to the last pair?” he asked, counting out her change.

“They dissolved,” said Katie. “I swear, this summer it’s rained every Tuesday like clockwork.”

He wrapped the gloves in waxed paper against the weather, nodding. “Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You too.” She tucked the parcel under her arm and opened the door. If anything, the rain had picked up. A sheet of water marked the edge of the shop’s short awning. “Nope,” she said, and shut the door firmly. 

Leanne looked amused. “You’re a witch, Katie.” She reached for her wand. “If the rain is bothering you–”

Katie couldn’t help herself. “A hag?” she interrupted.

Leanne crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “You were with McLaggen.” The shopkeeper, ringing up a copy of _Flying with the Cannons_ for another customer, snorted.

“Fair point,” Katie conceded, scowling at the eavesdropper. “But at least he’s human. Hags eat _babies_.”

“You know that’s not true, right?” said Leanne, impatient again. “Wizards have been spreading lies forever, to convince themselves they’re superior to other creatures.” The door’s bells jangled as she wrenched it open for the Cannons fan. He took one look at the rain and Disapparated on the spot. She let the door swing shut slowly behind him. “Although that rumor took off because a bunch of hags adopted it,” she admitted. The corner of her mouth curled up. “As a kind of a joke.”

“I have heard this too,” Andrei chimed in, resting his elbows on the counter and grinning. “We have more hags in Romania that you have here, I think. My cousins Ion and Lucian had one for their nanny. She was a funny lady. When people stared, she always told them the boys were perfectly safe.” He snickered.

Katie looked from one of them to the other blankly. Leanne grew pink.

“Right,” she said, looking like she wished she’d stayed quiet. “Right. Well, hags aren’t big on civilization, are they? Their language isn’t written down, and most of them are barely literate in any of ours. So the first ones to read about themselves in a wizard book misunderstood it.” She paused. “They, er, misread ‘eat’ as–”

“Eat out,” cut in Andrei helpfully. “And-”

“Babes?” finished Katie, tickled. “Really?” She cocked her head at Leanne. “How many hags did you say you met?”

“Even without written records, their tradition of magic is extraordinary,” Leanne plowed on. “They don’t make wands, obviously, but I believe when combined with our wandmaking theories–”

“Yes, yes,” said Katie. “It sounds like a thoroughly educational trip.” She turned to the shopkeeper. “Why have I never heard about this before?”

He shrugged. “You never asked. The British, they think they know everything.”

“We invented Quidditch, didn’t we?” Katie huffed, then waved it off. “I can’t wait for this match to be over,” she declared. “I’m writing to the editors of _Fantastic Beasts_ tonight. The next edition simply must be corrected.” 


	3. Ollivander's Wand Shop

It was Saturday before Katie made it over to the wand shop. The building was even narrower and shabbier than she’d remembered, with brick peeking through the soot-stained render on the upper floors, but there was kraft paper in the ground floor windows and a handprinted sign tacked to the freshly repainted door promising a grand reopening on August 1. The notice fluttered damply as Katie balanced her umbrella on her shoulder against the afternoon’s mist and knocked. Seconds later, the door cracked open to reveal Eddie’s mop of blond hair and slightly silly face. When he recognized her, he threw it wide, beaming.

“It’s Katie!” he called, drawing her inside and kissing her cheek. “Your savior up at Law Enforcement! And she’s brought biscuits!” He relieved Katie of her housewarming gift and flopped down on a stack of planks, munching.

“I made those for Leanne,” she said, pulling the door closed and wiping her trainers. The plate was piled with homemade Ginger Newts, although their legs had kept sticking to the cutter. Most of them would’ve passed for eels.

“I’ll save her one,” he offered.

Leanne muttered something unintelligible. She was halfway up a ladder in the main storeroom pasting wallpaper to the backs of emptied wand shelves, a smoothing tool between her teeth. The shop looked strange, bare of wand boxes and cobweb- and dust-free, for once, but full of tools and boards and tubs of paste. Ollivander’s desk and chair had been shoved into the entryway, nearly blocking the winder stair, and were half hidden beneath a canvas drop cloth and spare rolls of paper. The few areas of walls without shelves were still unfinished and showed signs of recent cleaning and patching. The whole space smelled strongly of muggle solvents and Mrs. Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover.

“I see you’re lending a hand,” said Katie.

“Me?” said Eddie. “Heavens, no. Do you know how much this shirt cost?”

She sat down beside him and snagged a legless newt. “I would’ve thought you’d be good at all this.” She nodded at the renovations. “You’re practically a muggle these days.”

Eddie sniffed. “A muggle who can afford decorators, please.” He grinned. “I tried. Leanne banned me after I got a little enthusiastic with the Mrs. Skower’s last week.”

“You were hurling it around like a windmill,” said Leanne. She had stepped off the ladder and was inspecting her work. She bent to wipe a dribble of paste from the baseboard.

“I was channeling my inner abstract artist,” he protested.

She snorted, straightening up and retucking escaped hair behind her ears. She was in muggle jeans and a paint spattered t-shirt today, her hair tied back again. “Thank you for the biscuits, Katie.”

Eddie looked down guiltily at the plate, now empty but for one lost leg. “Don’t be angry,” he urged, passing the plate to Katie and rummaging through a bag by his feet. He pulled out an oblong package wrapped in garish Big Ben paper. “I brought you something too. Open it, go on.”

Leanne’s eyes flickered to Katie but she wiped her hands on her jeans and took the gift. She tore open the short end of the paper, exposing a small chunk of charred wood. To Katie’s surprise, she looked delighted. She carried the thing over to a window and peeled up a corner of the kraft paper to examine it in better lighting.

“It’s a fragment of the Areadbhair spear haft,” Eddie explained to Katie, “from after the damn thing burned itself up. Old Carmichael family heirloom.” He looked at Leanne a little nervously as she studied the grain of the less burned end. “At least my great-granddad claimed it was,” he added. “But there were a lot of us, and he never ran out of pieces. I guess he could’ve been burning old broomsticks for spares.”

“Four hundred year old yew broomsticks?” Leanne was stroking the wood with her wand. “If it’s a fake, he’s very good. Thank you, Eddie.”

He blushed. “You’re welcome.” Then he grinned. “You’ll have to show us your workroom, now.”

Leanne was still smiling fondly at the lump. She looked from him to Katie and shrugged. “All right, then.”

“What, really?” He sounded shocked, and turned to Katie. “You need to come over more often. I’ve been begging for weeks.”

“Or you need more burned up antiques,” she countered.

He looked thoughtful. “That could work,” he mused. “My sisters each have a piece. Georgie’s is in Gringotts, which will be tricky, but Louisa keeps hers at home…”

Katie wasn’t paying attention. Leanne had pulled the ladder away from the shelves and was now circling the storeroom, brushing the wall with one hand and holding her wand and Eddie’s gift in the other.

“What–?” she asked.

“Looks like magic,” Eddie hissed loudly.

Leanne’s mouth twitched. “Shut it,” she said, and continued her search. On her second time around, she stopped beside the little window that overlooked the shop’s dingy back yard. As she slid her wand halfway into the wall, something clicked and silver light traced the outline of an opening. Katie blinked. A door had appeared, the perfect twin of the door leading from the vestibule into the storeroom. It had swung partially open but instead of revealing the overcast day outside, Katie saw steps descending into blackness.

Eddie jumped up and crowded behind Leanne, craning over her shoulder. “I won’t touch anything, I promise,” he swore. Katie snickered and he shot her a dirty look. “Well, I’ll try.”

Leanne shook her head but let him pass. He dashed down the unlit stairs, occasionally cursing as he missed one. Katie pulled out her wand to light her way.

“Don’t,” said Leanne, brushing her wrist, then curling her fingers away. “Wands are unpredictable in a wand shop. Too much background magic. Here.” She stepped through the doorway and floating spheres blossomed into light. “The Death Eaters took anything useful upstairs,” she added, “but the workshop only opens for the wandmaker. Everything downstairs was saved.”

The room some thirty feet below was much larger than the shop above. Zigzagging racks dominated the space, connected by a network of ladders and rickety mezzanines. The closest rack was near enough to touch from the stair. It appeared to have been added onto over time — some shelves had glass doors, some were open-faced, some were subdivided into cubby holes or had fallen askew — but all were crammed with odd-sized boxes, jars, and loose specimens. Katie paused on a landing beside a row of boxes labeled neatly in at least five different hands. “Purple Willow: Keswick, 1904,” read one, and another “European Beech: Larvik, 1973.” A “Dahurian Larch (root): Hulun Buir, 1999” lay on top of the stack.

“One of mine,” said Leanne, and “For fuck’s sake.” In the distance Eddie had discovered a ladder and was scrambling up, whooping. “Excuse me.” She hurried after him. The lights seemed to dim slightly as she left.

As Katie reached the cool basement floor and turned down an aisle, she found herself surrounded by bottles and jars. She recognized dragon heartstrings and unicorn hairs, each labeled by subspecies and animal’s temperament. Then there were hundreds of feathers, some clearly phoenix, some augurey and diricawl and jobberknoll. A bottle marked with a skull and crossbones held a viciously green feather she couldn’t identify. Water-filled bottles held fish bones and spines. A few seemingly empty jars were labeled “demiguise hair (do not discard),” and a squat metal box padlocked shut read “rabbit incisors, handle with care!” Towards the end of the aisle she stumbled across an entire stuffed snidget, slightly balding, staring at her mournfully from a bell jar.

“Gerbold Ollivander was into taxidermy,” Leanne said, returning spearless. “There’s a pair of graphorns farther in, and something with weird purple ears. With any luck one of them will fall on Eddie.”

Katie grinned. “We were going out after the war, Eddie and me,” she said. “I lasted five months.”

Leanne smiled back. “That’s probably his record.”

“Don’t talk about me,” Eddie demanded, reappearing behind them, covered in dust. “It’s very rude. Come on, I want to see the wands.” 

Leanne led them past an aisle that smelled like an apothecary and down one lined with books. They skirted a table covered in ledgers and scrolls that had been wedged into the walkway. Katie nearly ran into Eddie when he stopped in his tracks, pointing at a curious diagram on the table that showed wands drawn up like a family tree.

“That’s us!” he said indignantly. “That’s my Aunt Lucy.”

Leanne turned around to look. “She was Mr. Ollivander’s favorite customer,” she agreed. Katie saw a row of seventeen wands clustered in the center of the tree.

“She’s a talented witch,” Eddie said to Katie, a little defensive, “but a complete klutz. She had to get a new wand every year of Hogwarts. Even now she’s lucky if they last her three years.”

“And each wand has been completely different,” said Leanne. “Mr. Ollivander was determined to work out what makes a wand choose a wizard. He thought she was the key. Then when he couldn’t find a commonality in her wands, he expanded his study to four generations of your family–” she pointed to Eddie’s wand farther down the page “–but he couldn’t find anything there, either.”

“My wand is bigger than that,” Eddie muttered. And “Poor Aunt Lucy. She’s just about due for a new one. She’ll miss her Ollivanders.”

Leanne smiled and pulled him away from the drawing. “Mr. Ollivander took care of her,” she assured him. They left the towering aisle of books and broke into an open area flanked by shorter cabinets. Katie felt her scalp prickle from the concentrated magic. The cabinet nearest her was almost empty, with only a few slender paperboard boxes on all of its shelves save for one, labeled “Lucy Carmichael?”, that held more than fifty. “She was his favorite,” Leanne repeated. “He left her a little of everything. At least a dozen of these should suit her.”

Katie stepped past her friends toward the workbench along the far wall. At one end, a raw branch and three rough-cut blanks lay surrounded by saws, chisels, mallets, drills, complex measuring devices, forgotten cups of tea, and a hand-crank radio. Midway down the table, on a sheet of pitted stainless steel, sat a small cauldron, a round bottomed flask clamped above a camping stove, a mix of screw-topped plastic and cork-stoppered amber glass bottles, scalpels, pincers, and a pair of specs with an impressive array of multicolored loupes. The contents of the flask were emitting unpleasantly sweet steam towards a jury-rigged exhaust hose. Nearby were two recognizable wands, a sliver of horn, and a heartstring floating in bottle of liquid. At the farthest end of the workbench, a single nine inch red wand with a faint raised swirling pattern lay beside a knife, a tin of lacquer, and a jam jar of brushes in turpentine. Beyond it were a pile of paperboard boxes, only one occupied. The finished wand, also slightly short, was knuckled where twigs had once sprung and was stained a weathered grey except where bone-white wood broke through, in a texture almost like rhinoceros skin.

Eddie, suddenly serious, bent over each area in turn, careful not to touch anything. Katie followed his lead, edging away from an almost skeletally pale blank and wondering what in front of her were outlawed materials. Leanne closed a muggle composition book filled with notes and wiped at something sticky near the cauldron with a wad off a roll of toilet paper.

“Not a novice, then,” said Katie softly. 

“No,” said Leanne.

Eddie snorted. “I should say not. This is advanced Arithmancy, and treelore, and beastlore, and potions, and whatever that is, too.” He gestured at the lacquered wand’s patternwork. “This is brilliant, Leanne.”

She flushed and looked down. “I’m no Ollivander.”

Eddie shrugged. “He had ninety years on you. Give it time.”

“They’re beautiful,” Katie agreed. “But how long does this take? How many wands do you have?”

“Enough.” Leanne nodded at another cabinet where Katie could see a few hundred labeled boxes. “Most of them are Mr. Ollivander’s, some we made together, a few I made alone. Mine take longer but I’m getting the results I want.”

“Good,” said Eddie. “Do you have everything you need?”

“No.” Leanne glanced at Katie. “Imports are a problem.”

“Imports, right,” he said. “I can handle those.” He wandered back down the workbench, stopping near the blanks. “What,” he asked disdainfully, “is this?” He snatched up a pale blue mug. “‘Arrows Number One Fan,' really?”

“That was Mr. Ollivander’s,” said Leanne. “I swear.”

“Definitely an angry friend in your future,” he predicted, squinting at the soggy tea leaves within it. He turned it counterclockwise. “Or maybe a goat?” He jammed the mug unceremoniously into his satchel. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s not important,” said Leanne.

“A lovely red one,” Eddie continued, ignoring her. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at it in disgust, mug forgotten. “I realize you’re busy, Leanne, but someday consider dusting down here? I’m beyond filthy.” He grabbed their arms and pulled them toward the stairs. “Come on, let’s go somewhere I can use a cleaning spell without blowing up the place, and then I’m taking you both to dinner.” Leanne looked reluctant, but Katie couldn’t help but laugh. “Isn’t this great?” he grinned back at her. “It’ll be just like old times.”


	4. Leaky Cauldron

Katie stepped out from the fireplace into the Leaky Cauldron’s vestibule alone later that week, drained after another day of unending conference floos with Ambassador Quispe’s colleagues in Peru. She privately cursed time zones as she dusted the ashes from her robes and headed into the pub’s pleasant din. Outside, the sun had already set and rain pattered against the walls. She made a face: working late was bad enough, but after being taunted by sunshine through the Ministry’s enchanted windows all day, she’d been looking forward to a dry walk home at least. She accepted a Firewhisky from Tom gratefully.

“Wet one,” said Tom. Katie sipped her drink and nodded. “Your friends are back there.” He jerked his head.

Katie thanked him, surprised, and wandered deeper into the Cauldron. She dodged a table of boisterous Hogwarts sixth- and seventh-years, looking for Angelina, Alicia, or the rest of her Gryffindor alumni Quidditch teammates.

She found Leanne and Eddie instead, in the poorly lit booth at the very back of the pub. They were joined by the unlikely combination of an older wizard with spiky greying hair and an eyepatch, a Hogwarts student with big ears poking through his thick curls, and a middle-aged goblin whose black eyes and half-shaved domed head just cleared the edge of the table. The student fell silent as Katie approached.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey yourself,” said Eddie cheerfully. “Budge up, Abercrombie.”

The goblin hopped off the seat before the student could move. Katie had never seen a goblin with that hairstyle, a shock of iron gray hair on one side and smooth as a snooker ball on the other, but otherwise he could have been any Gringotts staffer, in a waistcoat, rolled sleeves, and tricolor tie. “It’s getting late,” the goblin said, counting out a precise stack of coins with long thin fingers. “Your friend is welcome to my seat.” He nodded at them, handed something to Leanne, and hurried away. 

Katie slid into the booth beside Leanne. She barely fit. “Don’t believe we’ve met,” the older wizard said, extending a hand across the table. He was wearing an argyle sleeveless sweater over a plaid button-down, to eye-watering effect. “Willis Proudfoot, Auror.”

“Katie Bell, Law,” she said, clasping it. “I’ve seen you before, around the Ministry.”

He nodded. “I spent all winter on assignment in Azkaban. It’s good to be back.” He topped off his glass from a pitcher of butterbeer. “Especially catching up with my nephew Euan, here,” he added, tousling Abercrombie’s hair. Abercrombie looked mortified and did his best to unflatten it. Katie looked at the pair, wondering if he was pulling her leg — they looked nothing alike — and the auror narrowed his eye. “Takes after his dad’s side,” he grunted.

“Thank God,” muttered Abercrombie. Proudfoot turned his disapproving eye onto him and took a irritable swig of butterbeer.

The table fell silent again. “I hope I didn’t interrupt,” said Katie.

“No,” replied Eddie and Leanne, in unison. Proudfoot and Abercrombie said nothing. Katie gave Eddie a suspicious look and waited.

“Oh, stop it,” he caved, reaching for the pitcher. “Yes, you’ve caught us plotting Professor McGonagall’s surprise birthday party. The big, ah, 66.” Proudfoot snorted.

“It’s 112,” said Abercrombie, looking to Leanne. “And can we-”

“Whatever.” Eddie waved dismissively. “And it’s okay, we can trust Katie. She and Leanne were great friends, back at Hogwarts.” He winked.

Katie rolled her eyes. “So why’s a goblin on your committee, then?”

“Mrs. Ragnok? She was McGonagall’s summer camp bunkmate,” he said promptly. Abercrombie stared at him. “She’s never told you?” Eddie asked. “Get her to tell you the story about them weaseling sometime, it’s hilarious. Anyway, they’re very close. Great old friends.”

“Hold up,” said Katie, trying to follow, glass paused halfway to her lips. “You’re saying that goblin is a lady, and that she and McGonagall used to date–?”

Leanne choked on her Peachtree and bent forward, coughing. Eddie thumped her on the back and grinned over her head at Katie. “Merlin, Bell, no. Not everything is an innuendo.”

“‘Great friends’?” she shot back. “Although if Leanne and me were your definition,” she smiled, “well, we never got too far, either.”

“Curses,” Leanne offered, between coughs. Eddie laughed out loud and elbowed her, knocking her into Katie, who smirked. Leanne’s cheeks were very pink. She coughed again and took a cautious gulp of tea.

Proudfoot smothered a smile and cleared his throat. “There are children present,” he chided.

Abercrombie sat back and glared at him. “I’m of age, Uncle Will,” he snapped. “And I’m bi, and I do better than either of them, from the sounds of it. But I’ll leave the stupid puns to my elders, shall I, and go fetch a new pitcher?” He stalked off toward the bar but was intercepted midway by a tall seventh-year, and disappeared into the crowded students’ table.

“Kids,” said the older wizard. “So much for more drinks.”

Eddie nodded sadly and pushed the last of their pitcher toward him. “Dreadful weather we’re having.”

“We had an away match on Tuesday, up the coast,” Katie agreed. “It was a full on gale, there. It was all we could do to stay on our brooms.”

Eddie brightened. “Speaking of Quidditch, are you busy Saturday? Could you take Leanne to the Wigtown match? Only I’ve got this work thing which I can’t get out of and I’m desperately trying to turn her into a fan and it’d be really great if you’d look after her for me.”

“Eddie,” said Leanne.

“Leanne,” drawled Eddie.

“I’m more of a Puddlemere United girl, myself,” said Katie uncertainly, glancing between them.

“Then you can go and weep,” Eddie declared. “It’s settled.”

“Wigtown are rubbish,” said Proudfoot. Eddie’s mouth dropped. He launched into a fierce defense of his team, mostly citing trivia plucked straight from _Quidditch through the Ages_ and _The Wonder of the Wigtown Wanderers,_ as far as Katie could follow, but she wasn’t paying much attention.

“You hate Quidditch,” she said to Leanne.

“Eddie thinks I should get out more.” She shrugged. “He’s probably right. How’s work?”

“Awful,” said Katie. “It’s these conferences with Tarapoto — there’s a permanent crick in my neck from crouching in fireplaces and they never end before 9. I’m praying my next job is with someone on this side of the world. How’s the shop coming?”

“Slowly,” said Leanne. She looked tired. “I haven’t got two weeks left, and I’m still refinishing the floorboards.”

“So? There’s spells for that.”

Leanne shook her head. “There’s too much wand interference. I’d probably cause a sandstorm, trying to sand the floor. But my father said he’d come help on Sunday, so I’m set.”

Katie had failed her Muggle Studies OWL but she remembered a little of the strange lecture on muggle construction techniques. “What, with paper?” she ventured.

“If wizards had wall sockets he’d bring power tools,” said Leanne, “but we’ll make do.”

Katie shook her head in amazement and sipped her drink. Proudfoot was counting out all of Wigtown’s championships in living memory on his fingers — he barely needed both hands — as Eddie spluttered. Leanne produced a biro from somewhere and sketched out a pattern on her napkin, half-listening. “Have your parents been over yet?” Katie asked.

“No.” She looked a little sheepish. “The shop was in rough shape, you know? The raid damaged less than you’d think but Mr. Ollivander was a widower for a long time, and his housekeeping…” She shook her head and jabbed at her design. “I wanted to get it presentable first. Me and my brother were always supposed to be doctors. Or me a Healer, after I got my letter. Wandmaking… They’re still not convinced it’s much different than making mismatched chopsticks, really. The least I can do is be tidy about it.”

“What?” protested Katie. “But wandmaking is some of the most important magic there is.”

Leanne’s face lit up. “You’re sweet.” She examined her sketch, scribbled it out, and started over.

“How is Ben?” Katie asked.

Leanne smiled. “Really good,” she said. “He’s starting at King’s in the fall. In Medicine, actually.” She looked down again and crumpled up the napkin. “I guess the upside is,” she muttered, “if no one comes to the shop, they’re already resigned to my backup career in utensils manufacturing.”

Katie frowned. “You’re talking about those letters in the _Prophet?”_ she asked. “That was just a few old fuckwits. No one else thinks that.” Leanne looked at her dubiously and returned to her tea. “No, really–” said Katie, but she was drowned out by Eddie. 

“Wigtown developed _both_ Parkin’s Pincer and the Skyfall Formation–” he argued.

“That was three hundred years ago, you overeducated imbecile,” snapped Proudfoot. “Two years back, they lost to _Chudley._ No one loses to the Cannons. The Wanderers are pathetic, and so are their fans.”

“That’s our call to go,” Leanne told Katie, pushing her glass away, “before Eddie turns this into a wand-measuring contest.”

Eddie leapt up. “I’ll have you know–” he began.

Leanne was on her feet a second behind him. “Look at the time,” she announced, nudging Katie out of the booth and hauling her friend behind her. “Cough up, Eddie.” He swayed dramatically. Katie eyed him — he’d seemed fine ten minutes before — but propped him upright while Leanne pulled a handful of silver from his blazer.

“My two best girls,” he beamed. “See me to the fireplace?”

Leanne sighed but took his arm. Proudfoot waved goodnight, still griping about Wigtown as he headed towards the bar. Katie took Eddie’s other arm and the trio wended their way towards the pub’s vestibule. Behind them, Abercrombie said something and the students’ table erupted in laughter.

Eddie claimed his trench coat and satchel from a clothes tree and fished through the bag for floo powder, still leaning heavily on Katie. He produced a muggle mobile phone, a fanged frisbee, and a lumpy package bound in calligraphy-covered paper and twine. He pressed the last into Leanne’s hands, then shot Katie a worried look, as if she might have a lingering phobia of packages in pubs.

“Party hats,” he reassured her. “Korean party hats. All the rage.” He pulled on the coat and patted himself wildly, nearly knocking her over, before locating the floo powder in a pocket. “There it is,” he cried, sprinkling some onto the flames. “Sleep well, you two.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Katie offered as he vanished. “I’ve been cooped up all day, and anyway with my luck I’d get nabbed for drink-Apparating.” She took a giant black umbrella from the pub’s stand.

They walked side by side down the deserted alley. Katie blew on her free hand. It was still drizzling and the night was growing cool. The shops were all dark save for Eeylops, where dozens of eyes followed them, and Madam Malkin’s, where the proprietress was working late letting out someone’s dress robes and calling to an assistant to fetch more taffeta.

“His wand is pretty impressive,” said Katie slyly.

“Hazel, 13 inches, phoenix feather,” Leanne recited without looking up.

Katie snickered. “Right.” She hopped over a puddle. “Do you know mine?”

“Birch, 11 1/4 inches, dragon heartstring.” She turned to Katie, smiling faintly. “Lithe.”

Katie gave Leanne a playful shove, then winced and offered her a hand out of the large potted plant she’d toppled into. Leanne was laughing. “That’s been awhile,” she grinned. She bent for the fallen party hats and stood, brushing off her jacket and picking wet leaves from her hair. “Remember that time in the Library, when you pitched me into Madam Pince?”

“And the time you pushed me through the trick tapestry,” Katie countered, “right on top of Montague and Davis snogging? World’s worst ever threesome.”

“I had no idea they were there, I swear,” said Leanne. “And at least I broke you out of Montague’s headlock.”

Katie snorted and reached for a twig. “I wish you’d come back sooner,” she said, spinning it between her fingers. Leanne looked at her. “You could’ve seen Ollivander again, and…” She trailed off and turned, tracing the source of a loud drunken singsong to Gringotts, where a young man was urinating against the snowy white marble. The goblin night guard shouted and he started, tripping over his trousers and down the stepped street to sprawl on the cobbles. Katie smiled. “Do his.”

Leanne blinked. “Who?”

“Osmund Fisher, the Penryn pisser,” Katie sang in perfect off-key imitation. “Don’t you listen?”

Leanne glanced at the scene and started walking again, ducking her head against the spattering rain. “Apple, 10 inches, unicorn hair,” she said rotely. “Slightly flaccid.”

Katie trotted after her with the umbrella. It wasn’t easy to keep up, in heels. “You’re making that up.”

“No.” Leanne’s foot grazed a puddle. The water she’d kicked up sparkled in the light of the lantern outside Gambol and Japes. “Mr. Ollivander would quiz me while I worked blanks. I’m good for thirty years, then I need to check the books.”

“Shit,” said Katie. “And I thought History was bad.”

Leanne turned to her. There were still leaves in her hair. “History is important.”

Katie smiled. “Yes, thanks to you I’m the queen of pub quizzes.”

Leanne threw up her hands. “You’re impossible.” They had reached the wand shop, and she paused on the first step. “This is me,” she said.

They were the only two people out on the street. Katie was reminded of another night, just days before her accident. She’d insisted on walking Leanne all the way up the spiral staircase to the Ravenclaw common room door but had then been too self-conscious, under the sharp eye of the eagle door knocker, to do anything besides wish her pleasant dreams. She shook her head, thinking how young they’d been, and the umbrella bobbled, sending a stream of rainwater down her collar. She yelped and shivered as it trickled down her spine. “Till Saturday, then?” she managed.

Leanne nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it,” she said, turning towards the door. “Get home safe, Katie.”


	5. Puddlemere United

Leanne had come extra early to the match. Katie found her sitting at exactly mid-pitch and swathed in Wanderers paraphernalia, including an enormous red raincoat dotted with tiny stylized meat cleavers. It was dry so far that morning but Eddie was clearly not one to let a single piece of his Wigtown wardrobe go to waste. The rest of the stadium was turning dark blue as Puddlemere United fans streamed into their home pitch. Katie straightened her own navy jersey and shoved enough of the raincoat aside to clear a seat beside her friend.

Leanne was checking her watch. “You made it,” she said.

“Of course,” said Katie. “I should’ve been earlier but Oliver Wood is Keeping today. I had to wish him luck.” 

She’d had the biggest crush on Oliver her fourth year. Angelina had had to break the news, ever so gently, that he was gay, and then, when Katie nodded blankly, to spell out what that meant. With Leanne it had been even more awkward. A month into studying together, Katie had been returning Leanne’s copy of _A Guide to Medieval Sorcery_ when she’d spotted the colorful spine of a muggle comic book amongst the leatherbound textbooks in her schoolbag. The comic’s dialog could’ve been Mermish, for all Katie could follow, but the drawings were clearer. Eddie had burst out laughing at her expression and gotten the three of them kicked out of the Library. In the corridor outside, with Leanne pressed up against the wall like she wanted to pull a Binns to escape and Eddie grinning from ear to ear, Katie had established that girls could be gay too, that Leanne was, and that Eddie, as he helpfully interjected, wasn’t. It had never come up again, until that night seventh year.

“Katie!” cried George Weasley as he, Angelina and Bill filed into the row behind them. “Come to cheer on Oliver too?” Katie jumped up to hug Angelina. Bill smiled and sat down carefully, cradling his sleeping daughter.

Down on the pitch, a troop of children had begun to sing the anthem very shrilly. Katie’s old House captain stood characteristically stoic, but she spotted one of the Wigtown beaters actually covering her ears. As the song ended, the team captains shooed the children away a bit quicker than was necessary, shook hands, and shot into the air.

Five minutes into the match, Puddlemere was up 20-0 and Leanne had apparently lost interest. She had shifted in her seat to untangle herself from the skirts of her raincoat and was chatting with a young wizard who Katie did not recognize, oblivious to the match. Katie smiled at Eddie’s failing proselytization project, then hissed as the Wanderers Keeper saved a nice shot. He tossed the quaffle to the latest Parkin playing for Wigtown, who tore back up the pitch.

“Go on, have him, have his legs, chop him!” screamed George, from almost directly behind Katie. She grinned. The Puddlemore Beater’s bludger flew wide. George slapped his thigh. “Bloody useless.”

Little Victoire Weasley started awake at the outburst, her eyes filling with tears. Bill bounced her on his knee and frowned at his brother, who fell over himself apologizing and producing peace offerings. Victorie accepted a floppy sun hat and placed it on her father, shrieking in delight when his head disappeared. As she pulled it off and put it back on, popping his head in and out of sight, George laughed and leaned forward.

“Pass this to Li, would you?” he asked Katie, handing her a sizable Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes tote. Katie gave him a quizzical look — she’d never known Leanne to be interested in novelties — but passed it along. Leanne smiled back at George, somehow tucked away the bag into the folds of the raincoat, and returned to her conversation. Katie caught something about occamy nesting habits.

As the match continued, witches and wizards kept dropping by. For all of Leanne’s worries at the pub, she clearly had some supporters, and seemed to be heading an endless receiving line. Before the occamy expert was out of sight, another Asian witch introduced herself, a young child peeking out from behind her robes. Her son quickly overcame his shyness and spent a good ten minutes swinging from the guardrail and speculating with Leanne about his future wand. No sooner had they left than an elderly witch tottered down the stairs, brushing off Angelina’s offer of assistance. She eagerly shook Leanne’s hand and presented her with a housewarming bottle.

In the interludes between visitors, Katie did her best to draw her friend back into the match. “Remind me again. The Beaters’ role is to hit the bludger out of play?” Leanne asked, as one of Puddlemere’s Beaters took a particularly poor shot and the bludger flew in the opposite direction from the Wigtown Chasers.

“No,” said Katie. “I _think_ that was a Bludger Backbeat gone wrong. I’ve never seen them this bad, they’re just off today, the pair of them–” Leanne grinned at her. Katie caught onto the joke and grinned back. The sun had broken through the clouds and Leanne was almost glowing, ridiculous raincoat and all.

The Puddlemere fans cheered and Katie whipped around. Wood had saved the shot, and the end of the pitch was a blur of navy blue and gold flags. When she turned back, she saw Leanne had yet another visitor. Katie peered past her at the goblin standing at her elbow. “What team is that?” she asked curiously. The goblin's shirt was checkered blue and child-sized but still much too large.

“Wanderers, innit,” the goblin muttered, scowling at her and thrusting a small wooden chest into Leanne’s hands.

“What?” said Katie, so distracted that she missed Puddlemere score. “When’s there ever been a blue Wanderers’ shirt? And what’s with all these gifts?” The chest had vanished into Leanne’s raincoat, too. Katie looked from Leanne to the goblin stomping away, and remembered the other goblin at the pub, and the two unusually short wands lying on Leanne’s workbench. “Merlin’s _balls,”_ she said, understanding.

Leanne’s mouth tightened. She stood, nodding politely to their neighbors, and practically dragged Katie up the narrow stairs, leaving a trail of hats knocked askew by the raincoat in their wake.

Katie was fuming by the time they reached the concourse. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she almost shouted, startling a wizard carting enough pies and butterbeers to feed a family.

Leanne shook her head and led her farther away from midfield, to where the crowd was thinner. “Something that should’ve been done a long time ago,” she said. She still had hold of Katie’s arm, as if afraid she’d run straight to the Ministry.

“What, one-upping Urg?” Katie demanded. “That’s an arsenal in your basement!”

Leanne blinked, confused. “Urg the diplomat?” she asked.

Katie snorted. “The only person to push the diplomat line was Urg’s own son. Everyone else — Bagshot, Punnet, Tomkink — all pegged him as the ringleader of the rebellion.” Leanne looked both impressed and inclined to argue. She opened her mouth, undoubtedly to bring up Bagshot’s anti-goblin bias yet again, but Katie was in no mood for it. She pulled herself free from Leanne’s grip and leaned out over the railing, glaring at the game. True to form, a Puddlemere Beater missed his shot. Leanne waited.

“You’ve been planning this since Hogwarts.” It wasn’t a question. This was why Leanne had studied History so intently, why Katie’s own head was filled with names and dates, why she was as fluent in Gobbledegook as in English. This was why Leanne had dropped out and disappeared. Everything was about _goblins._

“Yes.”

“Ollivander knew?”

“No,” said Leanne. “My expedition was his idea. It’s traditional. But I never said. He wouldn’t have approved.”

“And Eddie?”

Leanne shook her head. “I only told him in May.” She paused. “But he wasn’t surprised.”

The calmness in her voice — resolve or self-righteousness — made Katie’s blood boil. It was all rushing back, the confusion and hurt and anger she had felt in St. Mungo’s when she’d woken and asked for Leanne, only to be told that she hadn’t returned from the Easter holidays. Neither of them had called that Hogsmeade trip a date but it had felt like one to Katie. She hadn’t been able to stop smiling all day. She couldn’t remember entering the toilet, or leaving it not herself, or the curse, or the months afterwards in the hospital. She couldn’t even remember what they’d been talking about, before. All she remembered was Leanne smiling at her, every time their eyes met, and then gone.

Katie had gotten over it, of course. She’d convinced herself that it hadn’t meant anything to Leanne. She’d reminded herself that Leanne had been lucky to get out before the Muggle-Born Registration Commission was formed. She’d even invented excuses for why Leanne hadn’t returned to stand with them against Voldemort. But gallivanting across Asia sourcing materials to outfit a different war definitely wasn’t on that list.

“Tell me,” Katie pressed, “how you could be so chickenshit about something that actually mattered and so cavalier restarting a rebellion over something–”

“That doesn’t?” Leanne finished softly.

Katie flushed. “You know what I meant.”

The crowd roared again but neither of them turned. Leanne stood facing Katie, unblinking, hands balled at her sides. Finally she took a breath and looked away. “Mr. Ollivander told me once,” she said, almost to herself, “that if anything ever happened to him, I should get out. He was taken that summer. I went back to school anyway.” She looked up and met Katie’s eye. “I needed books in the library, but mostly I wanted to see you.

“Not two months later was your accident.” Her voice caught. “It was alright at first. Professor Flitwick let me use his fireplace, and Professor Dumbledore swore you’d make a full recovery in time. I woke up every morning believing that was the day you’d be back. But months went by and you weren’t. And I couldn’t stop thinking that you might never be. Or that if I’d listened to Mr. Ollivander, if I hadn’t been there, if we hadn’t fought over the necklace, you wouldn’t have touched it–”  
  
“My accident wasn’t your fault,” said Katie, incredulous.  
  
Leanne shrugged, unconvinced. “I should have stayed,” she admitted. “I should have been there. But getting my hopes dashed again and again and again, with no end in sight…” She looked very small in her red cocoon. “I couldn’t do it.”

Katie’s anger had completely left her. She was torn between wanting to comfort her friend and wanting to shake some sense into her. “Leanne,” she said.  
  
The other woman shook her head savagely. “It was shitty,” she said. _“I_ was shitty. I… It’s done. But this–” her fingers brushed the skirts of her raincoat “–is happening. Trust Eddie or McGonagall if you don’t trust me, but don’t get in my way.” She hitched up her pockets full of contraband and vanished with a muffled pop.

Katie stared at the spot where she’d stood. The crowd collectively drew in its breath as the Wigtown Seeker dived for the snitch, then broke into a rousing chorus of “Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here” as a Puddlemere Beater finally hit his target and the Seeker was sent spinning off course. A nearby Wanderers supporter threw his team wig aside in disgust, right into Katie. She batted it away and leaned into the guardrail, looking out unseeing at the match.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Angelina, come up from the stands. “Li’s gone?” Angelina asked, spying Katie alone. She held Victoire on her hip with one arm and was patting at her hair with her other hand, another victim of George’s hat. Victoire was still clutching the offending article, gnawing on its brim. “Can you give her this for me?” She passed Katie a bag. Katie eyed its contents, a dish wrapped in foil, with deep suspicion. “And either top off the cooling charm or get it into a fridge soon.”

“You’re in on this shit, too?” Katie groaned in disbelief. Then, puzzled, “…a fridge?”

“Shittoo!” chirped Victoire proudly, from around a mouthful of hat.

Angelina made a face and bounced the child on her hip. “Let’s not repeat that around your mum, okay?” she suggested. Victoire stared at her and solemnly placed the sun hat onto her own head. Angelina sighed and turned back to Katie. “Of course,” she said. “I mean, that’s just a curry — I figured Li needs to eat, too — but… You’re not?”

“Of course not,” said Katie. She shook her head, trying to clear it. “What’s come over all of you?”

Angelina glanced back at the match and winced as a Wigtown bludger connected with one of the Puddlemere Chasers. “It’s not right,” she said simply. “Don’t you remember that spring? Don’t you remember the Wandless?” She couldn’t keep the disgust out of her voice.

“It’s not the same,” insisted Katie.

“Isn’t it?” said Angelina. “Bill and Carmichael pulled us in. They said Li had a plan and Professor McGonagall was helping her, that they’d come up with a way to do it peacefully.”

A dozen vicious and bloody battles paraded through Katie’s head. “Goblins have never done anything peacefully.”

“Not typically, no,” Angelina allowed. “But there’s been a few. There was — Poug the Peacemaker, wasn’t he?”

“Poug,” Katie snapped, “didn’t exist. He was invented by Eargit the Ugly to convince the 14th century Wizards’ Council that goblins were trustworthy trade partners — he was literally a gimmick created to unload second-rate silverware.” 

Angelina smiled. “I don’t know how you remember any of that,” she said.

Katie said nothing, wishing that she didn’t, that her memory wasn’t stamped with Leanne’s idiocy. She looked down and realized she was clutching Angelina’s bag in a white-knuckled fist. “I’m sorry,” she said, loosening her grip and offering it back to her friend. “Can you ask George to drop this off for you, when he’s next at the joke shop?”

Angelina chuckled. “Ooh, lovers’ tiff?” She tickled Victorie and reached for her hat but two little arms shot up and gripped the empty air tightly. The headless toddler giggled.

Katie snorted. “That’s long done.”

“Is it?” said Angelina, giving up on the hat and reclaiming the bag. “Your loss, then,” she shrugged. “My curries are to die for.”


	6. Ministry of Magic

Katie knocked on the door marked “Mme Josephine Delaney, Magical Office of Law.” It was open, as always, but she always knocked anyway — she suspected her office Head wasn’t so much promoting an open-door policy as encouraging her Comstock’s eyes to wander down the corridor and scare passersby senseless. The painting itself, an unusually expressionistic take on Minister Artemisia Lufkin, hung directly behind Madam Delaney’s desk between shelves of identical black legal tomes and a smattering of professional awards. Katie tried not to look up at Lufkin’s face, with its empty, slightly oozing, eye sockets, or over her own shoulder, sure that the eyes were hovering there, watching her, somewhere in the row of grandfather clocks displaying the local times of the magical capitals of the world.

“Miss Bell,” the woman at the desk smiled. Madam Delaney had taken a shine to Katie her first week at the Ministry and had become something of a mentor to her, although Katie still wasn’t sure why. She’d always felt a little slow and shabby in the older woman’s presence. Today the Head was wearing layered black robes cut low with a fine gold scarf looped around her neck and matching gold stilettos just visible below the desk. A ring glittered on her hand as she tucked reading glasses on top of her head.

“That’s a beautiful scarf, Madam Delaney,” said Katie, unconsciously straightening her posture as she lay her report on the desk and pulled up a chair. She kept her feet tucked out of sight. She’d switched to flats recently and wasn’t sure if her mentor would approve.

“Thank you,” said the Head. “My nephew just brought it back from Tripoli. His daughters brought me about twenty pounds of sweets — would you like one?” She produced an oversized box from a drawer and removed the lid, revealing several dozen. “Please,” she said, when Katie hesitated. “They’re absolutely delicious. If no one helps me eat them, I’ll outgrow all my robes.”

Katie took a bite from a biscuit with a nutty filling. It was delicious. “ ’s wonderful,” she agreed, trying not to get powdered sugar all over herself.

“I know,” said Madam Delaney sadly, returning the box to its drawer. “We need to impose tariffs on those, for our own protection.” She passed Katie a tissue and picked up the report. “Negotiations with Peru are still going well?”

“A little trickiness this week,” said Katie, wiping her fingers. “Someone with more connections than sense started breeding Vipertooths, and he’s leaning on us to get them reclassified as extra large lizards so he can sell them here for pets. The Ambassador called him a fool to his face though, so hopefully it’s a non-starter.” 

“Breeding Vipertooths?” Madam Delaney repeated, lifting her cup from its saucer. “I thought the Peruvian Ministry was still doing regular culls?”

“They are,” said Katie.

Madam Delaney shook her head and set down the cup to scribble a note on the cover sheet. “I’ll speak to Collins in Magical Creatures, see if he can get his counterparts to pay your breeder a visit.” She paused for the clocks, which had begun to strike the hour. Although they were magically calibrated, no two shared a chime and the clamor was intense. As they finally fell silent and Frankfurt’s cuckoo withdrew, she adjusted her glasses and flipped absently through the report. “Tell me, how well do you know Miss Li?”

“Leanne?” said Katie, surprised. She hadn’t spoken to her friend since their argument at the match but she had seen her the following day, eating lunch outside the jellied eel shop with her family. Katie hadn’t been sure what to say to Leanne and had only ever met her parents once, at King’s Cross the summer before their seventh year, where they’d been kind but clearly worried about the recent disappearance of their daughter’s employer. On Sunday Leanne and her mother and grandmother had been laughing as her father gestured forcefully about what Katie imagined was proper sanding technique. She had dawdled outside the bag shop across the way for minutes, uncertain whether to interrupt, until someone had dropped their new trunk on her toe and she’d retreated, hobbling.

“She tutored me in History of Magic at Hogwarts,” Katie said, wholly inadequately. “I’d barely scraped the OWL and the Office of Law required advanced study, so Professor Binns set us up.”

“She certainly knows her History, given your exam results,” Madam Delaney acknowledged. “Were you close?” 

Katie had no idea how to answer. They’d been settled into the Library that night, just the two of them, Eddie out viewing the meteor shower with his Astronomy class. Katie, sorely missing his usual antics, had been slogging her way through an essay with the growing suspicion that she’d confused Urg with Ug. She’d asked Leanne which was which and played stupid when her tutor had pointed to the stacks, so Leanne had sighed and led the way, eventually locating an oversized folio and staggering a little as she hauled it off the shelf. Something had come over Katie then, seeing her standing with the book in both arms, and she’d ducked forward and kissed her.

Katie had stumbled backwards immediately, beet red and stammering an apology. Her friend had stood clutching the book tightly for a long moment, wordless. Then she’d stepped forward, dropped the heavy volume into Katie’s arms, and touched a finger to Katie’s lips to quiet her. She’d leaned up on tiptoes and brushed her mouth against Katie’s ear.

“You should ask,” she’d whispered. “And Madam Pince is right behind you.” Katie had almost jumped out of her skin, spinning around to look for the prowling librarian, and Leanne had grinned bright as the sun and turned away towards her studies. Katie had only dared to look up from the book twice the rest of the night but she’d been pretty sure Leanne was smiling. She’d wanted to kiss her again but hadn’t, later that night outside the Ravenclaw common room, and that weekend walking to Hogsmeade, and then everything had gone to hell.

Madam Delaney misinterpreted Katie’s silence. “Mrs. Prod mentioned you were up to see her in Law Enforcement,” she added.

“Leanne isn’t Dark,” said Katie, with more conviction than she had realized.

“Of course not,” said her mentor. “But still not someone to attach yourself to.”

Katie frowned. “What do you mean?”

Madam Delaney rested the report on her knee and took a sip of coffee. “Look at it like you’re the wizard on the street,” she said. “I know just about anyone makes wands in some countries, but we’re traditionalists, here. She’s starting off on the wrong foot, with a name that’s not Ollivander. Add to that she’s female, she’s muggle-born, she’s an immigrant–”

“She was born here,” Katie objected.

“She’s very young, she dropped out of Hogwarts–”

“She’s also gay,” said Katie angrily, “if you’re fishing for reasons to knock her.”

Madam Delaney sighed and leaned back. “I’m not trying to attack your friend, Miss Bell,” she said. “I’m trying to explain that the Ministry values History because we live it every day. Our society does not exist without our laws and traditions — the Statute of Secrecy, the Charter of Rights, the Code of Wand Use. We encourage muggle-borns to fully integrate. We want them to become equal members within wizarding society. But not all of them do.” She gave Katie a sharp look. “You knew Miss Li at Hogwarts. She’s studied us, but would you say she’s one of us?”

Katie said nothing. Her mentor nodded. “Exactly. Someone so different, stepping into a role so fundamental…” She spread her hands. “Having controversial friends could complicate your career here.” She returned to Katie’s report.

Katie was taken aback. “No,” she said. “None of that matters anymore. No one cared about any of it at school except the same little gits who supported the Death Eaters, and we shut that down.”

Her mentor looked up at Katie over her reading glasses. “No one has ever cared at school because everyone is experimenting at school,” she said patiently. “But when you graduate and take your place in our world, social norms become more important. Especially at the Ministry.”

“Well, that’s fucked,” said Katie flatly. The older woman raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, Madam Delaney, but it is.” She stared out the window — tropical sunshine, again — and suddenly smirked. “Wait, everyone? Who were you experimenting with?”

Madam Delaney pursed her lips and pointedly turned a page. Katie’s smile faded as the Head read on. She hadn’t met a muggle-born until she’d come to Hogwarts but her uncle Philemon was a squib, and it had always hurt her to see how the wizarding world dismissed him and his success as a barrister in the muggle courts merely because he couldn’t turn a teacup into a tortoise. She had viewed blood status superiority as more of the same, and had gotten into more scuffles over it with mouthy Slytherins in her first year alone than she could remember. Those letters in the _Daily Prophet_ slagging Leanne had stung Katie, but she’d written them off as the last gasps of frustrated blood status believers. Realizing that people like her mentor were keeping track of the same things — especially her mentor, who was rumored to have smuggled fifty muggle-borns to safety, during the war — that despite their layers of gentility, they still saw equality as something muggle-borns had to earn, deeply upset her.

“You got them to eliminate the cauldron tariff?” Madam Delaney observed. “Nicely done.”

“I know my History,” said Katie. “I know nothing’s changed here since the seventeenth century, not really. But I thought with the second wizarding war won and with Minister Shacklebolt’s proposed reforms, we’d finally move forward.”

Her mentor looked up again and smiled pityingly. “You’ve been here for three years, Miss Bell. Surely you’ve noticed by now that changing minds and changing laws owes more to networking and deals than it does to duels.” She turned the page. “As it happens, I’m having another dinner party next month. You should come. Wear the burgundy Twilfit.”

“Yes, Madam Delaney,” said Katie. “Thank you.” She wondered mutinously what would happen if she showed up in orange, or better yet, in muggle clothes.

Madam Delaney ran a finger down the page. “And I see they’ve agreed to improve screening to catch those idiots pirating out cursed Inca figurines?”

“Yes,” said Katie. She’d been proud of that one. “In return for a commitment from us to increase Sneakoscope exports.”

“Which we wanted anyway.” Her mentor nodded approvingly. “You’re quite good at this, Miss Bell. Keep your nose clean and you’ll go far here.”

There was a knock outside the door. Katie looked around, grateful for the interruption, as Mrs. Prod’s head appeared around the frame. She scanned the room nervously for any sign of wandering eyes.

“The Minister is asking if you could join him upstairs, Madam Delaney,” Mrs. Prod relayed, squeaking and ducking back into the corridor when she thought she spotted an eye.

“Thank you, Elsie,” said the Head to the empty doorway. She stood and adjusted her scarf with a flourish, then smiled to herself and pulled the box of sweets from the drawer. “Take these, Miss Bell. Leave the report.”

“I couldn’t–” began Katie.

“Consider it a personal favor to me,” said the older woman, depositing the box in Katie’s lap and patting her shoulder as she left the room. Her heels clicked against the floor.

The box fit into Katie’s satchel, barely, and rather dented from her efforts. She hoped Madam Delaney wouldn’t change her mind and ask for it back. She bent to gather up the sheets of parchment and bottle of ink that had fallen out in her struggle to squeeze it in. “She’s right, you know,” said a voice from above. Katie jumped. She glanced up at the painting and immediately turned away, regretting it. 

“Forgive me,” said Minister Lufkin. “I do forget.” Her eyes drifted over and hovered in front of her face. They were comically disproportioned from Katie’s angle but at least they hid her eye sockets. She was depicted in bold, distorted strokes, with a wand in one hand and a book of law in the other, wearing a grumpy-looking fox stole over robes reminiscent of a suffragette’s suit. It was entirely anachronistic, of course, but, Katie thought, everything her mentor was pushing her to be.

“About keeping my nose clean, Minister?” she asked sourly.

Lufkin laughed. “Not about _that,”_ she said. “That’s the kind of advice that middle-aged people always give young people when they’ve forgotten what being young is like. None of us listened to it, either.” She smiled and stroked the fox reminiscently. It snapped at her hand, she swatted back at it with the book, and it subsided, growling sullenly. Katie could sympathize.

“No, she’s right that you’re good at this,” Lufkin continued. “And she’s right that you should wear burgundy to dinner.” A disembodied eye winked at her. “Red suits you.”


	7. Muggle London

Katie was almost late to lunch with Eddie. When she arrived at the muggle restaurant near his office, she found him already seated at the best outdoor table, taking advantage of the unusually dry afternoon. He was lounging in the sun and chatting with the waitress, a heavier woman with blue hair and sleeve tattoos, who was laughing at something he’d said. As Katie approached, the waitress hurried off for a second menu and Eddie leapt up to offer Katie a chair.

He looked very pleased with himself. “That’s Lydia. She’s a musician. I’m invited to her show next week. Backstage.”

Katie blinked. “That’s good, then?” she asked. “I mean, behind the band?”

He looked suddenly worried. “I think so,” he said. “I hope so.”

The waitress returned with another menu and two bottles of sparkling water. “Are you a student?” she asked Katie, nodding at her robes. “My cousin’s at Cambridge but I’ve never seen one like that.”

Katie looked down. She’d forgotten to change into muggle clothes after escaping Madam Delaney’s office. “No, just trying something different.” She smiled. “Who wants to look like everyone else? Lydia, is it? I love your hair.” The waitress smiled back and passed her the menu. Eddie, in an impeccable but conservative pinstriped suit, looked miffed.

“It’s bad enough you constantly flirting with my best friend,” he complained as the waitress left them to study their options. “You can’t have Lydia too.”

“What?” she said. “I’m not–”

“All right then,” he said, mollified, and picked up the list of specials.

Katie opened her mouth, closed it, and flipped through the menu distractedly. Caught off guard when the waitress reappeared, she ordered something at random. Eddie flashed a grin and sought Lydia’s opinion on each of the specials in turn, then changed his mind twice before choosing a zucchini quiche. 

“You look awful,” he said to Katie cheerfully, when they were alone again. “Cutting edge fashion aside.”

“I’m fine.” Katie poured herself water. “I just need a break. Weird review with my Head this morning.”

Eddie shot her a glance. “You didn’t say anything?”

“What? No,” she said, affronted. Truthfully it hadn’t occurred to her to tell Madam Delaney about Leanne’s plans, even before their conversation. She supposed it should have.

“And she doesn’t suspect?”

“No,” said Katie again. “She was just warning me off Leanne. Said she’d complicate my career.”

He laughed. “She’s not wrong, there.”

“She was going on about her, Eddie, couching it all in history and tradition bullshit.”

“Welcome to the wizarding world, Katie,” he said, raising his glass. “There’s a reason I work for muggles.”

The waitress arrived with their orders. Eddie thanked her effusively before slicing into his quiche and sighing with pleasure at his first bite. Katie took a spoonful from her bowl. It was soup, or possibly salsa, and heavy with cilantro. She reached for the condiments, wishing she’d read the menu, and took another bite. Cilantro and chiles and cream. She ate the avocado garnish and prodded the lumpy liquid again, trying to remember a spell that might improve it.

“Is that why you left?” she asked. “Because it’s all arse-backwards?”

“No, I left because I have a gift for advertising,” he said, laying down his fork. “And I could sell to twelve thousand of us or sixty million of them.” He leaned back. “But escaping wizardry’s pathological fear of new things was nice, too. You know muggles have electric shavers?” He ran a finger along his jawline, which was admirably smooth.

She didn’t notice, too busy extracting a brownish lump from her soup. She was fairly confident it was a vegetable. “And you think another rebellion will help?”

Eddie snorted. “This isn’t a revolution,” he said. “The Ministry’s the most promising it’s ever been, with Shacklebolt and you and Potter and Granger and and everyone else who fought in the war.”

“Then what is it?” she asked. “And since when have you cared about goblins’ rights?”

He leaned forward. “Leanne is my best friend,” he said earnestly. “We met on the train first year — my sisters wouldn’t let me sit in their compartment, they said I was a little prat — and she was sitting alone and…” he shrugged. “I _was_ a little prat, perfectly happy to skive off until my trust came in, and she was the dead opposite, all work ethic and goals and determination. The only person to ever hang on Binns’s every word. You know.”

“You’re not saying she rubbed off on you?” asked Katie dubiously.

“Easy there, Gryffindor,” he retorted. “I’m clever enough to get nine Outstanding OWLs, and to know better than to order a British pozole.” He eyed her soup with distaste and held the edge of his plate protectively, as if she might try to steal it. “What I’m saying is, this isn’t my fight but it’s important to her, so I’m in.”

Katie gave up the soup for a lost cause and reached into her bag for a biscuit. It was only slightly squashed. “If Leanne had grown up around goblins, I doubt she’d lose sleep over them either,” she muttered.

Eddie smiled. “Maybe. But it’s not exactly shocking they’re twits, after centuries of disenfranchisement.” Katie conceded reluctantly. “And they’re not all bad,” he added, “Mrs. R gave me a whole tin of rock cakes the other day. Which reminds me, I have a dentist appointment at half past three…”

Katie played with her biscuit. Down the street, a horn blasted. A tourist had looked the wrong way and had nearly been flattened. “Saturday’s match didn’t go great,” she said.

“I know!” Eddie smacked the table, almost losing his fork. “The only shot those Beaters landed all day had to be the one that kept our Seeker from the snitch. I swear–”

“I meant with me and Leanne and the goblins.” Katie could still picture her, not the infuriatingly self-assured planner or the challenged dissident, fists clenched, but her friend from Hogwarts, haltingly reliving her helplessness. She had an idea. “Would you say something to her for me?”

“Me?” He looked surprised. “It’d go much better from you, really.”

Her face burned. “I called her a coward, Eddie.”

He shrugged. “She called me something I can’t repeat. Mostly because I don’t speak Cantonese or Gobbledegook or whatever the hell it was, but it sounded bad, too.” He finished his last piece of crust. “I’m not sure she’s talking to me right now, actually.”

Katie frowned. “What, just for inviting me to the match?”

“I did blow our cover.” He waggled his eyebrows. Then he paused. “It’s — after your accident, Leanne… You didn’t see it, obviously, but she went to pieces. She wasn’t herself.”

Katie slouched down in her chair. “I didn’t ask to get cursed,” she said, thinking again to the day of her accident. It had been perfect, before.

“Of course not.” He patted her hand. “But she couldn’t deal, she took off for Timbuktu to not have to, and now here I’m–” He fell silent as the waitress approached, running a hand through his hair and straightening his tie.

“Can I get either of you anything else?” she asked. “The soup wasn’t to your taste?”

Katie roused herself. “Thank you, no. I’m good. Just — eyes bigger than my stomach.” She dusted off her sugared hands discreetly below the table.

“My quiche was excellent,” pronounced Eddie. The waitress’s mouth curved in amusement as she wrote up their bill and collected their dishes.

“Why’d she leave me out, Eddie?” Katie asked. It was eating at her even more than the plan itself, that dozens of people were in on it, judging from the Wigtown match, but she’d been excluded. She’d missed Leanne. She wished she could’ve spent the last few months with her, too. Secret meetings plotting to arm goblins wouldn’t have topped her list, but still.

His eyes snapped off of the retreating waitress and back to their table. “Why are you smiling?” he asked suspiciously, claiming the bill. “A bloke can’t look?”

“What?” said Katie. “No, seriously, why?”

He produced a wallet and leafed through the paper muggle money. “Let’s see,” he said slowly, as if to a child. “One, you work in the Ministry — it’s not a stellar career move, is it, joining in on conspiracies to counteract the government? Two, you’ve never liked goblins. Three, she’s still–” He broke off as the waitress walked past again, carrying another table’s orders. He scrawled his phone number on the back of the bill ostentatiously, trying to catch her eye.

Katie grinned. “You’re shameless,” she teased as they stood to leave.

Eddie tucked his umbrella under his arm. “Funny thing about asking people out, Katie,” he said. “Sometimes they say yes.” He took off down the street, dodging window shoppers, only to stop in his tracks at the corner. “Look, there! It’s one one mine,” he said, grabbing at her arm and pointing at a double-decker.

There was an advert on the site of the bus, with an illustration of a giant tomato running from a young businessman with a briefcase in one hand and a ladle in the other. The tomato had a particularly dopey expression. The man could have passed for Eddie, if Eddie had the attention span for such a chase. “Tomatoes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner — they’re good for your heart (and might make you thinner!!!)” she read aloud. Some text to one side expanded on tomatoes’ health benefits.

“You’re not joking?” Katie asked. “Eddie, it’s terrible.”

“It’s old school,” he said. “With a bit of a twist.”

“What, bad art?” There was something wrong with the perspective of the tomato’s eyes, the way it was almost ogling her. She found it hard to look away. “That’s nine OWLs wasted.”

Eddie huffed. “Oh no,” he said. “That’s some O-grade charm-work there, and subtle enough to escape the Improper Use of Magic Office.” He surveyed it proudly as the bus sat at the light. “It’ll be stuck in your head at least a week. Heinz Tomato sales are up 22% already. Mr. Pym thinks I’m brilliant.” He gave his doppelganger and his quarry a final fond look and strutted off, whistling. Katie watched the bus pull away, slightly stunned, then hurried to catch him. She found him waylaid in the Oxford Circus crosswalk, listening patiently as an older man with an upside-down A-Z asked for directions to the Underground.

“So, what?” she asked, as Eddie pointed to each corner of the intersection and the tourist turned to look around him. “I should just stay quiet?”

“Please,” he said, reaching the sidewalk and shaking his head at a bus with a rival advert. “Otherwise I’ll have to kidnap you, and when Lydia finds you trussed up in my coat closet she’ll get the wrong impression entirely.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “But talk to her.” His face grew stern. “Leanne, mind, not Lydia.” He turned and continued down the street towards his office, swinging his umbrella and whistling again, and only waved without looking back when she called after him.


	8. Leaky Cauldron

“Ogden’s for you, Katie?” asked George Weasley. He had pushed his way through the press of regulars at the Leaky Cauldron’s bar and was passing orders back toward his teammates, there to celebrate their victory. Their opponents, a team of expat Beauxbatons alumni, smiled amiably and slapped him on the back while intercepting his bottles of butterbeer and toasting each other. George looked over at his friends and frowned, still seeing empty hands, and gestured for Tom to give him another three bottles.

“Make mine a Bloody Mary tonight,” Katie called. “Kind of been craving one.”

The barman looked at her blankly. “We don’t do that,” he said, and poured a Firewhiskey. Katie shrugged cheerfully and took it from George, sinking down at the nearest table. She glanced around the pub. The booth at the back was empty.

“No Li tonight?” asked Angelina.

“Probably final prep at the shop,” said Katie. “Tomorrow’s the first.”

“Are we proud of this one?” whispered Jimmy Peakes, their newest teammate, already through his first butterbeer. He turned around to eye their opponents again. “They’re so old.”

Angelina laughed. “Forty’s a long way from your twilight years, Peakes.”

“And two of them were reserves for their national team,” Alicia Spinnet pointed out. Katie nodded — one of their Beaters had been ferocious, nearly knocking her off her broom.

“Alumni’s alumni,” said George, making his way over with a tray and a second round for everyone, “and a win’s a win. Especially with Harry away again.” He pulled up a chair beside Angelina and raised his glass to the table.

“He can’t finish his training soon enough,” said Angelina. “Ron, too.”

“Eh,” shrugged George. “McLaggan was doing all right. Shame he disappeared in June, after…” He trailed off and rounded on Katie. “Fuck it, Bell. Can we make it a rule, everybody, no more dating teammates?” Angelina cleared her throat, Katie grinned, and George continued unabashed. “That was some nice shooting, girls. Felt like Slytherin, the year we won the Cup. That was a great day, yeah?”

“The first year we won the Cup,” Angelina corrected. “We won it again, didn’t we, even with all our best players banned?” Katie caught Alicia’s eye and mouthed ‘all our best players?’ in feigned offense.

“Proving how inspired leadership trumps mere skill,” George amended. “Right. The first year we won the Cup.”

“We missed you,” said Katie. “On the pitch and at the party.”

“Pulling those off wasn’t easy,” George agreed modestly. “Not actually getting the butterbeer, mind — the kitchen elves chucked cases of the stuff at us — but hauling it back upstairs… It’s heavy.”

“Have you heard of magic?” asked Alicia.

“Or of asking for help?” added Angelina.

“And admit that you were stronger than Fred or me? Never.” George smiled and kissed Angelina, but a shadow passed over his face.

“Excuse me,” said Jimmy, squeezing out from the table. “Loo.”

“Be careful in there,” warned George, and even Katie laughed.

They’d won the Cup a third time too, of course, the following year. Katie had been elated, if surprised, that they’d pulled it off, but it had felt different with so many of her friends gone. Angelina and Alica, Fred and George, Lee and Leanne. She’d caught herself more than once at that party turning to joke with Angelina, or wondering where Fred and George had run off to, or checking her watch to see if she’d spent enough time with her teammates yet that sneaking away to see Leanne wouldn’t be rude, before remembering that she was the only one of them still at Hogwarts. She’d missed Leanne the most that night, their meandering walks through the dark corridors and her impromptu history lessons whenever they passed a statue. Katie couldn’t remember a word of them anymore, only the way Leanne’s eyes had lit up for each anecdote.

She glanced up at the clock and finished her drink. “Hey,” she said. “There’s somewhere I should be. Catch you next week?”

“Take care,” said Angelina. Alicia waved. George didn’t look up, too busy quizzing Jimmy to confirm that he hadn’t been Imperiused or Polyjuiced in the gents. He roared in triumph as Jimmy, onto his fourth butterbeer now, botched an answer.

Outside the sky was cloudless but muggy, enough to make her miss the weeks of rain. She hurried down the empty street and nearly stepped on a chameleon basking on the warm cobbles. It looked up at her reproachfully and slunk off down Knockturn Alley.

The wand shop was pristine in the moonlight, its plaster patched and its windows finally unpapered and draped in limp Hogwarts-themed bunting. Katie had come by that weekend and had knocked long enough to draw curious looks, but Leanne had been out or down in the workshop or maybe just avoiding her, and hadn’t answered. Tonight, light leaking through the curtains confirmed she was inside and still at work. Katie pounded on the door, dislodging a loop of flags that landed around her head. As she guiltily tucked them back in place, the door swung open. Leanne had a mop in her hands and a smudge of blue paint across her nose. She looked Katie over and didn’t invite her in. “You’ve been drinking,” she said.

“Barely,” said Katie, stepping past her anyway. “I need to talk to you.”

“Not in here, you don’t.” Leanne barricaded the spotless shop and shooed her towards the winding staircase. “Upstairs.”

The one bedroom flat over the shop was dim and stifling. Its windows had been thrown open but there wasn’t a breath of wind and the single lantern by the sink burned steadily, disturbed only when a moth ventured too close. Katie left her shoes with the pile of Leanne’s at the door and followed her into the small kitchen, whose checkerboard linoleum and turquoise and chrome cabinets looked to have last been updated fifty years ago. The countertop was stacked with ancient copper pots, unfortunate peach and brown casserole dishes, utilitarian white bowls, and a massive cookie jar shaped like a toad.

“You have paint on your nose,” she said. Leanne wiped at it, distracted, and filled a kettle. “Not for me,” Katie objected. “It’s too hot.”

“Do you want a hangover?” Leanne countered. She set the kettle on an ancient iron range and fished a jar from the back of a cabinet. Even in the half light, Katie could see the unappetizing hairball inside.

“What is it?” she asked.

Leanne unscrewed the lid and tapped a wad of the stuff into the infuser. “Lhasa apso mix.”

Katie made a face. “You’re well stocked for someone who only drinks Peachtree.”

Leanne shrugged. “My aunt owns three. I’ve got a dozen jars, somewhere.” She gestured towards the rest of the flat. There were moving boxes stacked everywhere, including in Ollivander’s old bedroom, and small mountains of tools and construction debris, and not much more. Katie opened the nearest box, uncovering a neat pile of books topped with _Urg: An Intimate Portrait,_ and dropped the lid as if she’d been burned. She could still recite that nitwit’s paean to himself, all twenty-seven lines of Gobbledegook. To be fair, the verse in defense of Urg’s hygiene habits was amusing, but the rest of it…

“What do you want, Katie?” Leanne asked impatiently, watching her.

Katie looked up. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For last week.”

Leanne shrugged again. She was leaning against the countertop as the water heated, hands shoved in her pockets.

“I am,” Katie said. “It’s just, goblins–” She shook her head. “But I trust you, I do.” Leanne was silent. Katie stepped forward and touched her arm. “Are we good?”

Leanne jerked her head yes. The kettle wheezed and she turned towards it quickly, busying herself in pouring and steeping. Her shoulders hunched over her work. She did not look good, she looked like she wished she were back in Inner Mongolia.

As Katie reached forward again, Leanne spun around with the tea, knocking the mug against her hand. Katie caught it but the tea slopped over, mostly back onto Leanne.

Leanne hissed and dabbed at her shirt with a dishtowel. “You have to drink it for it to work,” she said. “Now I’ll just smell like a wet dog.”

Katie grinned. “You could take it off,” she suggested, close enough that Leanne’s efforts threatened to jostle the tea again.

She flinched, still dabbing. “Fuck you.”

Katie smirked. “Please.”

Leanne froze. “Katie,” she warned.

“Please,” Katie repeated.

“Don’t mess with me, Katie,” Leanne snapped. She’d backed away until she’d run up against the range. “Not tonight. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in a month–”

Katie cocked an eyebrow.

“Fuck,” said Leanne, exasperated, tossing the dishtowel aside. “I wish you weren’t drinking.”

Katie took a step back herself. “I had two drinks,” she protested. “I’m fine.” She set down the half-empty mug on the counter, searching for the right words. She hadn’t thought this through earlier, she’d just rushed over. “We’d only begun, before,” she tried. “We didn’t make it through one date, even. Having you back here has been-” she broke off, smiling, “and I thought you might still…” She faltered. Leanne hadn’t moved, was hardly even breathing, with her arms crossed over the wet blotch on her shirt and her head ducked defensively. Katie looked away, heart sinking. “I’m sorry,” she said, kicking herself. “I’m sorry. I'm — I’ll go.”

Leanne’s hand shot out and caught her wrist. Her grip was very strong. “Don’t,” she said. She looked up, chewing her lip and searching Katie’s expression. Whatever she was looking for, she couldn’t seem to find it. “You’re not messing with me?” she asked.

“No,” said Katie, indignant.

A smile crept across Leanne’s face. “Good.”

Katie’s heart ricocheted back into place. “Right,” she said, a little dizzy. The corner of her mouth twitched. “Can I kiss you, then?” she asked hopefully. Leanne’s smile grew wider. She took Katie’s collar in both hands and yanked her close.

It wasn’t at all like that night in the Library. Leanne kissed Katie like she knew exactly what she wanted, and hadn’t thought she’d ever get the chance again, and wasn’t about to let this one slip away. Katie shivered at her urgency and leaned into her body. “Don’t stop,” she begged, when Leanne did.

One of Leanne’s hands had found its way to Katie’s hip but the other had kept its grip on her collar. She shook her gently. “I am warning you, if you end up in another magical coma, I'll kill you myself.”

Katie grinned down at her. Their noses were almost touching. “If it’ll get me out of a second inescapable history seminar, I think I’d be okay with that.” She tried to kiss her again.

Leanne pulled away. “I’m serious, Katie.”

“So am I,” Katie promised. “Look, I’ll make you a deal.” She prised Leanne’s hand free but did not let it go. “If I never use a public toilet again, will you take off your shirt?” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s bad.”

Leanne laughed at that. “Not my fault,” she reminded her, pulling the shirt up and over her head and then flicking it toward Katie’s face. Katie caught it reflexively and made a show of dropping it into the sink in disgust and wiping her hands on her jeans. It took her a minute to register the scar where something had almost skewered her friend.

“Merlin,” Katie whistled, touching her still damp skin. A jagged raised welt, more than an inch across, lay just below her ribcage. “What happened?”

Leanne scowled. “Mr. Ollivander always warned me about unicorns.” She traced the edge of the scar, curling her fingers over Katie’s and lacing them together. “But I figured I’d be fine. I’m a girl, and I like girls…” She shook her head. “Turns out eastern unicorns, at least, are equal opportunities pricks.” Her eyes fell. "It was really stupid. I should have died."

Katie ignored that. “So what you're saying is, your hag was real?” she murmured, pulling her closer and marveling at the smoothness of her skin.

“What?” said Leanne. “That’s not — I don’t lie, Katie.”

Katie grinned, thinking of the lizard earlier. “Not too good to have me lie for you, though.”

Leanne flushed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked.” Katie shrugged it off and fumbled one-handed with her bra clasp. Leanne leaned against her, relieved, and lifted Katie’s other hand. Her lips brushed her knuckles. “I missed you,” she said. “So much.”

“Hmm?” asked Katie, still struggling. “Merlin’s tits, this thing. Turn around, would you?” Leanne twisted around, reluctantly releasing Katie’s hand. Katie, finally triumphant, stepped backwards to admire her work and tripped on the box of books, sitting down hard. She caught herself before cracking a joke about goblins being underfoot and accepted Leanne’s hand up again.

“I don’t lie because I’m bad at it,” the other woman offered, a smile on her mouth, slipping both hands under Katie’s shirt. “Not because I’m a good person.”

“You’re good enough,” said Katie breathlessly. “Tell me about your hag. Hags.”

Leanne laughed and leaned in to kiss her again. “Not tonight,” she said. “Come upstairs.”


	9. Ollivander’s Wand Shop

The sun hadn’t yet risen when Katie woke into an old nightmare, alone. She sat bolt upright in bed, heart racing, straining to see through the dark and unfamiliar space.

“Leanne,” she choked.

“Hey,” said Leanne. Katie could just make out her silhouette now, rummaging for clothes in a trunk across the room. She came back to Katie’s side and touched her hand. “Hey. I’m here.”

Relief washed over her. This wasn’t St. Mungo’s, she wasn’t seventeen, and her memory wasn’t a blank. Katie smiled, remembering last night, and felt her heart rate slow. “Don’t go,” she pleaded.

Leanne squeezed her hand. “Any day but today. It’s the grand reopening.” She knelt beside the mattress to pull on socks. “I’ll be right downstairs. You go back to sleep.”

Katie didn’t protest. “You still have paint on your nose,” she said, rolling over to Leanne’s side of the bed and curling up in her warmth.

Leanne pulled the sheet back over her. “I’ll leave your tea on the desk.”

The sun was up and the alley was alive when Katie woke again. Between the Firewhiskeys, the late night, and a very persistent songbird outside, her head was pounding. She stood up, almost bashing her head on the low sloped ceiling, and stumbled over to the desk. She gulped down the new mug of tea, holding her nose. Cold, it tasted even worse than she’d remembered. Leanne had left a mint humbug beside the mug, but it didn’t help much.

She was in the tiny attic bedroom above the flat that Ollivander had cleaned out for his apprentice to stay in over the holidays. Besides the bed and desk, the only furniture was one long low bookshelf overflowing with old schoolbooks, field guides, and muggle murder mysteries. There was a jumble of items on the top shelf — a flashlight, a wind-up alarm clock, dried flowers in fizzy drinks bottles, some kind of shattered bone — and three framed photographs. The first was a formal shot of Mr. Ollivander, standing before a wall of wand boxes, hair blazing white in the underlit shop. He nodded at Katie. The second was a muggle family portrait, Leanne in pigtails and not yet aware she was a witch, surrounded by grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. They smiled frozenly from the frame, the elders stiff and formal, the children arranged by height but laughing and hair-pulling and barely maintaining their line. The last she recognized from Hogwarts. Katie smiled and reached for it.

It had been another perfect day, in May or June of their sixth year. Katie had begged Leanne for a break from the library so they’d gone out on the lake, Katie at the oars and Leanne and Eddie feeding ducks off the back of the boat, at least until the giant squid had turned up to hoard all the bread for itself. As Katie lifted the frame, Eddie turned towards her and shot her a thumbs-up. Leanne shoved him, hard, knocking him into the water, then returned to feeding the ducks without missing a beat. Eddie surfaced, spluttering. Both Katies grinned.

Headache beginning to fade, she found her wand and prodded the bedclothes until they begrudgingly remade themselves, changing from white to an unpleasant pea green in the process. When her attempt to correct their color only added violently pink stripes, Katie thought better of magically cleaning her clothes from the day before. She opened an odd little cupboard in the eaves, with a trapezoidal door and fitted out inside with shelves, and held up one of Leanne’s robes. It ended at her shins, so she settled for a muggle t-shirt and shorts.

She tiptoed down the steep stairs until she realized that the customers’ attention was entirely focused on a dark-haired boy taking a wand from Leanne’s hand. His younger sister, a scarf trailing behind her, grabbed the discarded box and added it to a small tower rising from the floor. Leanne herself was paint-free, finally, and in her best robes, her hair loose and spilling down her back. Everyone held their breath, including Katie, waiting for the wand to do something. When nothing happened, Leanne asked the boy a question and thoughtfully ran her fingers over the boxes on the shelves. As she withdrew one from the bottom of a stack, Katie slipped outside unnoticed.

The street in front of the shop was full of people. Parents and children trundled past with armfuls of books and school supplies, or darted after escaped familiars. Others, childless, simply milled about, taking in the reopened shop and enjoying the cool if cloudy morning. Katie spotted Eddie across the street, leaning against the wall of the junk shop and eating scones.

He grinned wickedly as she approached. “Took you long enough,” he said. He nudged a tote towards her with his toe, eyes still fastened on the wand shop. “I stopped by Madam Malkin’s earlier. Got an owl from Johnson last night, said you might be needing these.” He was wearing robes too, the first time she’d seen him in wizardswear in forever.

Katie gratefully pulled the new robes over Leanne’s muggle clothes, smiling at their faint pinstripe. “You could’ve told me,” she said.

He snorted. “I did,” he said. “Constantly. Not my fault your average Gryffindor is dumb as a box of rocks.” He selected another scone, looking down for a moment to check the flavor, then offered her the bag. “How’s the shop look?”

Katie smirked. “You know, I have no idea.”

He laughed. “That’s my girl. Try not to send her fleeing for the steppes this time?”

She bit into her scone. It was goat cheese and sun-dried tomato, and strangely satisfying. “The way you’re all carrying on,” she said around the scone, “she’s going to be carted off to Azkaban long before I have the chance to screw up.”

“Oh, no,” he replied, lobbing the remains of his breakfast toward a sparrow who couldn’t believe its good luck. He dusted off his hands. “Everything Leanne’s doing is perfectly legal. Well, aside from that dodgy importing.” He nodded at the shop.

“What?” Katie asked. Nothing was happening. The boy and his family had just departed, successful at last, towards Flourish & Blotts. A wailing toddler demanded ice cream for breakfast. Abercrombie ran past, dragged by the leash of a poorly trained crup. Then she spotted the group of goblins weaving purposefully through the crowd. She thought she recognized Ragnok from the Leaky Cauldron in the lead, stiff and slightly pigeon-toed, joined by three other adults and a young goblin who was bouncing with excitement. The child looked more like a pirate than a Gringotts banker, from untucked dress shirt to the row of rings down one long pointed ear, and was clutching an envelope with a telltale purple wax seal.

“Oh,” she said. “That’s so simple.”

When the goblins reached the shop’s steps, a shocked silence rippled through the alley. As the door closed behind them, whispers and then shouts erupted. Parents pulled their children away. A bored witch with a press card pinned to her robes perked up considerably and urged her photographer forward. Several wizards Disapparated out, including Abercrombie, crup tucked under his arm. Within moments fifteen Law Enforcement Patrol witches and wizards Apparated in and converged on the shop. Half went inside, the other half formed a perimeter. Katie recognized Proudfoot amongst them, grabbing the photographer’s foot and trying to pry him down from the windowsill.

“Should we do anything?” Katie asked, alarmed.

“Nah,” said Eddie. “Well, maybe get him out of here before Leanne sees what he’s done to her geraniums,” he added, as the photographer fell backwards into the window box, flattening the flowers. He scrabbled for purchase and became tangled in the bunting, pulling it down after him. Eddie shook his head. “See you at the Ministry,” he winked, and disappeared.

Katie remained by the wall, watching the wand shop’s door. Whatever was going on inside the shop, at least there were no explosions. Having dislodged the photographer, Proudfoot spoke with an auror with a ponytail and went to join the group inside. The press witch sidled up to the nearest patrol member with a notebook and an eager expression. He shook his head importantly and shooed her away.

“There must be some mistake,” said a voice behind Katie. The junk shop’s owner had come to her door, goggling at the law enforcement presence. “I’ve known Miss Li for years. Such a thoughtful child. She’d water the plants for me, when I holidayed in Malaga.”

Katie was hardly listening. The wand shop’s door had opened. An auror appeared, with his wand in his right hand and two more held securely in his left. Leanne and the goblins filed out behind him, each accompanied by a patrol member. They were followed by the two youngest patrol members, heads hidden behind armfuls of confiscated wand boxes, and by Proudfoot, carrying Leanne’s mop and shutting the door firmly behind them. Leanne, now sporting a sharp pointed hat and the picture of traditional witchiness, kept an eye on the wand boxes but didn’t resist her escort. The goblin child was jumping up and down and waving the letter at every wizard within reach.

“You two go with that lot,” said Proudfoot. The wand box carriers moved carefully to the side, boxes shifting dangerously. “Everyone else–” He held up the mop. Leanne, the goblins, and their escorts all took hold. “Portus,” he said, tapping it with his wand, and they vanished.

The remaining patrol members abandoned their perimeter and conferred. They did their best to stack the boxes more securely in the junior officers’ arms, then the ponytailed auror and a seasoned-looking witch each grabbed one firmly and Disapparated. The others popped out of sight one by one. At the last moment, the press witch ducked over and seized a sleeve. She smiled gleefully as she disappeared with her target.

“There must be some mistake,” the junk shop owner repeated, fanning herself.

Katie spun around. “Can I use your fireplace?” she asked. The older witch stared at her. “I’m sorry, it’s a bit of a rush,” she added, slipping past her into the shop. It was crammed with items, antique and otherwise, like a less organized version of Leanne’s basement. Katie craned around a pair of snowshoes and a narwhal tusk leaned up against a complete collection of Lockhart books, trying to locate the fireplace. 

“Back here,” said the witch, taking Katie’s hand and pulling her through a maze of knickknacks to a small kitchen off the back. It looked like the disturbance outside had interrupted her morning tea. Her cat had taken advantage, and only lapped quicker at the creamer jug as they approached.

“Mister Evil,” she sighed, but let him be. She reached for a beautiful old perfume bottle on the mantelpiece and poured floo powder into Katie’s cupped hand. “Go on, then!” she urged.

“You’re a lifesaver,” said Katie, tossing the powder into the fireplace. She stepped into the emerald flames, keeping her elbows tight, and shouted “The Ministry of Magic!”


	10. Ministry of Magic

Katie realized immediately why Proudfoot had favored the portkey. Word had apparently reached half the wizarding population of Britain, and the fireplaces in the Ministry’s atrium were mobbed. She fell out of hers on top of a woman dressed like she’d been out for a jog, and apologized profusely as she helped her up and out of the way of the next arrival. At the far end of the hall, Ministry employees were running back through the golden gates towards the commotion. A troop of goblins had installed themselves next to the fountain, wearing a mishmash of three piece suits, faded khaki uniforms, and actual armor, with what Katie very much hoped were ceremonial axes looped through their belts. She thought she recognized the Wigtown supporter in the front row, now sporting a purple and green sash. Eddie was speaking quietly with one of the taller goblins, who was seated on some metallic hybrid of a sedan chair and a wildcat, an axe strapped to each side, and who looked decidedly unimpressed. The chair’s foreleg tapped the floor impatiently.

Paper messages and owls were vying for air space, darting left and right and occasionally colliding. Katie could pick out the Ministry officials in the crowd by the presence of small tornadoes of papers flinging themselves at them. Dodging a memo herself, she nearly ran into a stack of books: the elderly wizard who owned them, come directly from his shopping, had climbed on top and was surveying the room through a pair of opera glasses. Katie paused in the stack’s shelter and scanned the crowd for Leanne.

She and the five goblins stood near the security desk, surrounded by a growing ring of law enforcement personnel. Their wands were nowhere in sight but the young goblin still clutched the school letter. Eric the watchwizard looked exhilarated but most of the aurors looked bored, as if disappointed by the lack of fireworks. At the back, Proudfoot was reporting to a senior auror while the junior officers, just arrived from the visitors’ entrance, began transferring their armfuls of wand boxes to the desk. One of the junior officers was now covered in orange fur, a thick mane obscuring his topmost boxes — Apparating with hundreds of wands clearly carried side effects. Farther away, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were pushing their way through the crowd towards the group, looking very calm, followed by Abercrombie and a pair of students Katie didn’t recognize, looking very excited. Minister Shacklebolt appeared at the Ministry’s gates, circled by lesser ministers, security aurors, and half a dozen angry pure-bloods, several still in dressing gowns and each brandishing volumes of magical law.

Katie caught Leanne’s eye. The wandmaker looked nauseated from the portkey but smiled and shrugged, then glanced past Katie. Katie turned to find her mentor standing at her side, perfectly dressed and styled as always and sipping from a paper cup of muggle coffee.

“Sleeping in this morning, Miss Bell?” she asked.

“I am in the building, Madam Delaney,” Katie pointed out.

“Hmm.” The older witch stared toward the center of the crowd. Proudfoot was now briefing the Minister, who was looking at Leanne. “Your old friend’s caused a heap of trouble,” she said.

Katie smiled. “We’re closer than that.”

Madam Delaney waved her free hand. “Like I said, everyone experiments at school. Young people always think they’ve invented everything.”

“Leanne and I are together now,” Katie clarified. She rubbed her head as the wizard on the tower of books lost hold of his glasses and they bounced from her skull to the floor.

Madam Delaney sipped her coffee and didn’t respond. Professor McGonagall had reached the security desk and produced the Sorting Hat, which appeared to be addressing Minister Shacklebolt. Katie caught a line of verse and snickered as her mentor muttered about juvenile poetry and the unacceptable omission of English from the wizarding curriculum. She bent to retrieve the fallen glasses and smiled at her neighbor as she returned them. He blinked, mildly scandalized. 

Someone — one of the pure-bloods — shouted something about vampires and hags. After a brief discussion, Professor Flitwick opened a heavy book bound in black dragon-hide and everyone pressed forward. Four of Leanne’s guards had to step in to prevent his being trampled. After examining the book, Minister Shacklebolt nodded at Professor McGonagall, impressed, and she smiled in self-satisfaction. Katie peered around a nightcapped head, trying to catch Leanne’s eye again, and was nearly brained by a passing tawny owl.

“This will change everything,” Madam Delaney sighed.

“Will it?” asked Katie, pulling feathers from her hair. “It seems easier than admitting muggle-borns to Hogwarts, and we do that already. Goblins grow up in our world. You’d just change a few lines in the Code of Wand Use and get them to officially sign onto the Statute of Secrecy and it’d be done.”

“Yes, very nice,” her mentor replied. “Until the older goblins demand some sort of OWL equivalency to get them wands too. And foreign goblins and pukwudgies and yes, even vampires and hags, cite us as precedent to their Ministries. And all the less gifted witches and wizards, the ones who never made it through their NEWTs, catch on that now goblins don’t just control the banks, now they can reach the highest levels of the Ministry, that being human isn’t worth what it used to be, and they start organizing. The occasional Chipping Clodbury is going to look like a walk in the park.”

“Did you know, about hags–” Katie began, when the shouting pure-blood, enraged, reached for her wand. She was immediately disarmed by the Minister’s security detail, her wand arcing up over the crowd and landing near the group of goblins. They took a step backward and continued to glare at the witches and wizards. As she was escorted away, another pure-blood whipped out an abacus to make some point. Minister Shacklebolt shook his head and helpfully corrected his maths for him.

“On the other hand, Shafiq there always had her head up her own arse,” Madam Delaney said with relish. “If your girl’s managed to show her up, she might be on to something. Bring her with you to dinner.” She patted Katie’s cheek and strode off towards the center of the crowd, accompanied by occasional screams as someone’s toes got underfoot.

The elderly wizard cleared his throat and offered Katie his opera glasses. “I have a charming grandson,” he ventured.

“That must be nice,” she said, peering through them. Minister Shacklebolt was inspecting the child’s letter with two of the pure-bloods, who were looking increasingly sour. Another was shouting at the Sorting Hat itself, which seemed to have lost its temper and was excoriating his school record in rhyming couplets. The current Hogwarts students looked enthralled. “Oh,” she realized. “No, thank you. I'm very happy."

The Minister shook off the pure-bloods and spoke loud enough to be heard down the hall. “This is a Hogwarts letter,” he said in his deep, slow voice. “And this is a Hogwarts student. Hogwarts students are entitled — required, even — to purchase wands. It appears that the Wizengamot will need to revisit Clause Three of the Code of Wand Use at their next session.” He turned to the goblin child. “The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery still holds, remember — don’t go trying any spells today — but this wand is yours.”

As an auror returned the short grey wand, Abercrombie let out a whoop and hoisted the child up onto his shoulders. The little goblin smiled nervously and clung to fistfuls of the seventh year’s hair as he danced around. Minister Shacklebolt shook hands with Professor McGonagall, then inclined his head to listen to something Madam Delaney was saying. Professor Flitwick was nearly knocked over again by a tiny, stooped witch Katie thought she recognized from her exams, who as good as launched herself over the other dignitaries to embrace him.

Eventually Katie made it through the crowd to Leanne. “You’re all right?” she asked, reaching for her hand. “Not going to Azkaban?”

“Not yet,” Leanne joked. She looked exhausted but relieved as she tucked her own wand back into her robes. Behind her, Proudfoot was supervising the two grumbling junior officers as they gathered up all the wand boxes again. 

Katie did not want to think about what else Leanne might be planning. “They could have snapped your wand,” she said, mostly to distract herself.

“No, we couldn’t,” cut in Proudfoot. “The statute never forbade the sale of wands to non-humans, only non-human possession. Sloppy writing, there. Careful!” he added to his assistants, retrieving a fallen wand box and laying it on top of a stack. “See Williamson about a Ministry car to take you back,” he suggested to the orange furry one. “I’ll take care of your non-fatal injuries report."

“Miss Bell?” a voice repeated behind her. Katie spun around. Her mentor, Minister Shacklebolt, and the elderly witch — Madam Marchbanks, Katie remembered, reinstated to the Wizengamot — were all looking at her.

“I’m sorry?” she said.

“Minister Shacklebolt and Madam Marchbanks were saying that, given this little _fait accompli,_ the Goblin Liaison Office will need new leadership and a complete overhaul,” said Madam Delaney. “And I recalled your extraordinary knowledge of goblin history.”

Katie stared at her. Leanne smothered a laugh.

“You want me to–?” Katie looked around wildly. Leanne was struggling to maintain her composure. The Minister looked expectant. Her mentor looked impatient. “But I’ve never liked goblins,” she hissed.

Minister Shacklebolt chuckled. “Truthfully, that’s a point in your favor with most of wizardkind,” he said. Not far away, the remaining cluster of pure-bloods was eyeing them bitterly. “And you wouldn’t be alone. Miss Granger?” The younger witch, who had been chasing after Abercrombie demanding that he let the goblin child down, ran up to join them.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” she asked, hugging first Katie, then Leanne, who had given up and was grinning openly at Katie’s plight.

“Wonderful,” Katie echoed wanly.

“Miss Bell has three years experience in the Office of Law, in international diplomacy and negotiation,” said the Minister, placing his right hand on her shoulder, “and Miss Granger has two years experience in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, revising House-Elf regulations.” He rested his left hand on hers. “The pair of you have exactly what this requires."

“Mr. Brodrig will help too,” Hermione Granger declared, waving to the leader of the goblin troop. His chair prowled over, metal claws clicking softly on the dark wood floor, its occupant squinting at the humans. Minister Shacklebolt seemed taken aback by Hermione’s suggestion but nodded slowly.

Caught between the goblin and the pure-bloods, Katie felt a sudden desperate fondness for the people of Peru. She gingerly extended a hand to her new colleague. His fingers were long and bony. “Your proposed bill of rights in _The Brotherhood: Standing Tall_ would be a solid foundation,” she offered.

It was his turn to look surprised. “You’ve read it?” he asked, grudging respect in his voice.

“I can quote chapter and verse,” answered Katie, in Gobbledegook, and sighed.

“No slagging you off behind your back then, eh?” he said, also in Gobbledegook, displaying a mouthful of almost reptilian pointed teeth. Despite them, something about him reminded Katie of her great-uncle Alvin. Probably it was their equally fastidious comb overs. She wondered whether Brodrig used Sleekeazy’s too, or if goblins had their own lines of cosmetics.

They were interrupted by a flash of light as the photographer, still trailing bunting, reached over someone’s shoulder with his camera. Eric the watchwizard let out a cry and tackled him to the floor, pinning his arms behind him. The press witch swooped in and seized the fallen camera before Proudfoot could move. Katie could just picture the three of them splashed across the front page of tomorrow’s _Prophet:_ the reluctant white witch eyeing the exits, the eager black witch already jotting ideas into a notebook, and the heavily armed goblin baring his teeth. She looked to Leanne, hoping for some way out, but she was in deep discussion with Professor Flitwick and the Sorting Hat. Eddie was nowhere in sight. Professor McGonagall was speaking with two of the goblins. The Minister had turned away to compliment Eric’s quick reflexes as the watchwizard dusted off his robes, glowing with pleasure.

Abercrombie careened past again, still with the young goblin on his shoulders. The child loosened a hand from the seventh year’s head to wave the wand at Brodrig, beaming. Two of the adult goblins ambled after them. One was in the standard Gringotts three piece suit, silver hair pulled back into a short ponytail. The other was a full head taller and muscular, with a heavy leather apron over a blue work shirt and one tuft of graying hair atop an otherwise bald head. Neither appeared overly concerned for the child’s safety. 

“You’re in their ministry, then?” the smith asked Brodrig, in their language. “We’re sorry. It was not our intent that you suffer.”

Brodrig’s eyes crinkled with amusement but he warned, “This wand-carrier speaks Gobbledegook.” The two pairs of sharp black eyes seemed to register Katie for the first time and examined her with interest. Even the hulking smith had to look up to do it. She felt ridiculously overgrown.

“You must be very proud of your grandchild,” Katie said politely.

Their faces went blank. “Who?” asked the banker.

The smith turned to Brodrig. “Are you sure she can speak it?”

Brodrig snorted. “Odbert and Togh are Lavrok’s parents,” he told Katie.

“Oh!” said Katie, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I thought Ragnok and…” She gestured toward the other goblin, who was listening intently as Professor McGonagall explained the school’s course of studies. Hermione jumped in to attest that Hogwarts was the very best school of witchcraft there was.

“Finnik,” said Togh. “All four of us are Lavrok’s parents.”

Brodrig smiled. “You learned Gobbledegook from academic writing, yes?” he asked. “We must get you some of our romances.” Katie could have sworn that he winked at her.

“Er,” she stuttered. “That’s very kind of you, really, but I can only speak the language. I’m completely illiterate. It’s a long story.”

He grinned wider. “Some nursery books, then.”

 _“And Tangog Makes Five_ was a favorite of Lavrok’s,” suggested Odbert. “It’s about a family of diricawl who–”

“You’re a natural with them, Miss Bell,” pronounced Madam Delaney, in English, from above the goblin’s head. “A rapport, already.” She smiled benevolently at the group. “Stop wasting the Minister’s time and say yes.”

“Or perhaps _The Interrupting Cockatrice,”_ continued Togh, still in Gobbledegook. 

Katie smiled in recognition. “We have that one too,” she said. “My dad used to read it to me all the time.”

“Hers didn’t,” said Togh.

Katie gaped, but before she could respond she found herself seized by the arm and pulled back toward the Minister. Behind her, Togh and Brodrig exchanged looks.

“Knee deep already?” asked Minister Shacklebolt. “I know the feeling.” A semicircle of wizards and witches hovered around him, waiting for their shot at his ear. Eric scowled at them, holding them at bay.

“Er,” said Katie. Madam Delaney nodded at her firmly, and she decided against recounting their actual conversation. “Yes, we are. And thank you sir,” she added. “Serving as Co-Head will be an honor.” As she spoke, a squadron of memos detached itself from the flock still swirling over the crowd and veered toward them. The leading letter plastered itself to Katie’s face. She peeled it off, reading ‘To whom it may concern’ scrawled angrily on top. The other memos circled like horseflies.

The goblin from the Wigtown match appeared beside her and poked her forearm with a long nail. “Brodrig said to tell you that he also recommends _One Axe, Two Axe, Broad Axe, True Axe.”_

Hermione looked up from her own memo enviously. “I wish I knew Gobbledegook,” she said.

Katie forced a smile. “I can give you a reading list,” she offered.

Her mentor clapped her on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Miss Bell,” she said merrily. “Better you than me.”


	11. etc.

Katie woke in Leanne’s bedroom in the grey light just before dawn. A cool breeze and a soft patter on the roof confirmed it was raining again. She lay motionless, watching Leanne sleep, not wanting the moment to end.

Leanne stirred.

Katie flung an arm across her chest, pinning her in place. “Not today. If you leave this bed before noon, so help me Merlin I will kill you,” she threatened groggily.

Leanne lifted her head. “I should close the windows,” she said.

“Death,” Katie reminded her.

Leanne snorted and rolled over, tucking her head into the hollow above Katie’s breastbone. “Whatever you say, Goblin Liaison.” Her breath was warm, and tickled. Katie’s arm relaxed as she began to drift off again.

A barred owl swooped in through the open window behind the bed, sprinkling them with rain and depositing a fistful of damp letters on Katie’s head. Water dripped down her nose. A second owl landed on her pillow and tapped her forehead energetically, pausing every third peck to shake a letter tied to its leg in her face. Katie could just make out Hermione’s signature. She pulled the knitted blanket over her head, wondering if Brodrig had received one too, and what goblins did to owls who woke them up before 5am. Hermione’s owl hopped onto her hidden head and redoubled its efforts.

Leanne propped herself up on an elbow, smiling. “You’re sure you don’t want those windows closed?”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this off and on over years and years. I wish I’d been quicker; this is a complicated time to be contributing to this fandom, but I figure the wizarding world still needs all the lgbt characters it can get.
> 
> I love these books. I love the richness of detail, the world building, the discovery and delight and friendship. I tried very hard to respect canon and interweave this story into it, but I’m aware of at least one discrepancy with the books and two with the films. (They’re very minor details there but important here, and anyway I’m pretty sure my version is correct.) Tonally, I wanted to confront some of the problematic parts of wizarding society while preserving the books’ sense of resilience and hope and humor — fanfic’s ubiquitous angst-ridden, hand-wringing, pining-away-for-years-rather-than-speak-and-risk-rejection lesbians get kind of depressing after awhile. And I wanted to reflect a more realistically diverse world here than the books did. I’m sure I’ve made mistakes in all three, but I hope you enjoyed it. Comments are appreciated, especially if you can point me at any other more or less happy f/f fics.


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